


The Dreams We Left Behind

by Salr323



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon divergence - Threads, Episode: s08e18 Threads, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 74,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sam Carter marries Pete Shanahan is not the worst day of Jack’s life; he’s already lived that day.  But that doesn't make it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to bethanyactually for the amazing beta, and for the months of conversation out of which much of this story grew.
> 
> I wanted to tackle the question of Pete, and how and why Sam ended up in that relationship, and decided to do it by asking the question 'What if Jacob hadn't died and Sam had married Pete?' I consider this fic to be more of a canonical detour than canon divergent, though, as it ends up more or less in the same place by the end. 
> 
> Warning: while I've tried to extrapolate Pete from the way the character behaved in the show, making him flawed but not monstrous, if you're a big Pete fan this might not be the story for you. 
> 
> This work is complete and I'll be posting one chapter a day for the next six days. I hope you enjoy it! :)

He used to stop by her lab all the time, but he hasn’t done that in a while now. So, if she needs to speak to him, she has to visit his office. She tells herself that’s why she hasn’t handed him the invitation yet, because she never has it with her when she’s passing his office, or in a briefing, and he never stops by her lab anymore.

But they’re only half-truths, and in the end, with the wedding only a matter of days away, she makes herself pull the envelope from the drawer in her desk and walk to his office.

It’s late, but he’s always there late. He’s always there, period. This place, she thinks, would fall apart without him. Perhaps they all would.

He looks up when she knocks on the door and offers her a tired smile, leaning back in his chair and waving her inside. Only his desk lamp is on and the briefing room outside is dark too, so the shadows are deep.

“Hey,” she says as she steps inside. “Are you busy, sir?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “But I’m always busy, so…” He cocks his head. “How’s your dad?”

“Oh, good,” she says with a nod. “The new symbiote seems…different.” She considers the idea for a moment, how her father has changed subtly after Selmak’s death and the implantation of another Tok’ra. “He’s younger, I think.”

“Jacob?”

“Kamarl,” she says with a smile. “The Tok’ra.”

“Ah.” He can’t hide an involuntary shudder and she knows the path his mind is walking.

“Dad said he’d have died if they hadn’t found a new symbiote,” she explains, as if she needs to justify his choice. “I guess he was lucky.”

The general doesn’t comment, just gestures toward a chair. “So what do you need at this late hour, Carter?” Under the circumstances, she doesn’t blame him for changing the subject.

She doesn’t sit down, but hovers behind the visitor chair with one hand resting on its back. He picks up on her sudden nerves and gives her a wary look. There was a time, she remembers, when her unease would have provoked concern and it pains her that now it just makes him more guarded. Swallowing the feeling, she offers him the invitation, getting it over with, and says, “I’ve been meaning to give you this, sir.”

He doesn’t take it immediately, his reluctance obvious, and for a few awkward moments she just stands there holding it out. But then he reaches up and takes the envelope from her hand, scans his name on the front – General Jack O’Neill – and puts it down, unopened, on one side of his desk. “Thanks,” he says, not looking at her. He’s got a pen in his hand, twirling it between his fingers like a baton, and the room fills with silence. 

There’s something tight in her chest that wants to come out, words she wants to speak if only she knew what they were. “Sir,” she begins awkwardly.

He interrupts. “I have something for you too, Carter,” he says, and pulls a sheet of paper out of a stack that might be his inbox.

He glances at her, briefly meeting her eyes, as he offers her the letter. “I presume you’ve seen this?”

She takes it, her heart still racing, and it’s a moment before she can focus enough to know what she’s reading. When she does, she looks at him in surprise; it’s the letter from Groom Lake. “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know you’d been copied in, sir.”

“Base commander,” he says. “I see everything.” He leans back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully. “Head of R&D at Area 51.”

She nods. “Yes sir.”

“Big job.”

“Yes sir.”

He spreads his hands. “And yet…?”

With a sigh she comes around to the other side of the chair and sits down. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I can’t see leaving the SGC.”

“You can’t stay here forever,” he points out, and for some reason the assertion rankles.

“Why not?” she says. “You will.”

He lifts an eyebrow, giving her a look that tells her she’s about to cross a line. “It’s _your_ career we’re discussing, Colonel.” 

“Yes sir,” she says, dropping her gaze back to the letter outlining the job offer. “It’s flattering to be asked—”

“Bullshit,” he says. “Flattering, Carter? You’re by far the most qualified person _in the world_ for the post and you know it.”

His insistence jabs at her. “You sound like you want me to go.” 

“I’m your CO,” he reminds her, his expression carefully neutral. “And I’m thinking of your career progression, Carter. This is a good move for you. I think you should consider it.”

She puts the letter on his desk. “Now’s not the right time.” 

“Why not? Things are quieter here than they’ve ever been. Now’s a great time.”

She shakes her head. “There’s been so much change this past year. I need time for things to settle down.”

He’s silent for a beat, watching her with an unreadable expression. “You mean because of,” he hesitates, “your personal life?”

It’s not that, really, although she can’t deny an increasing sense of anxiety at the thought of making such a life-changing commitment. But that’s normal, Pete tells her, everyone has pre-wedding jitters, and she knows she can bulldoze her way through them. Yet the thought of leaving the SGC, of leaving her team, upsets her in a way she can’t rationalize — or maybe, that she doesn’t want to rationalize. “I just want to keep things the way they are,” she says.

He looks away. “That’s not possible. Nothing stays the same.”

Her heart jolts because she’s afraid he’s talking about her – about _them_ – and she doesn’t know what he means.

But then he snaps out of the moment, looks back at her and says, “Well, think about it. You don’t need to decide until after. The wedding,” he adds, as if that wasn’t the elephant in the room.

“Yes sir,” she says, getting to her feet. Her eyes dart to the unopened invitation on his desk and she wants to tell him she’d understand if he didn’t come, given their history. But the truth is she doesn’t know what, if anything, that means to him anymore and, either way, she figures it’s better not to dredge it all up again. So instead she says, “If you want to bring someone—”

“No. But thanks.” He pulls a stack of papers towards him, makes a show of getting back to work. “Night, Carter,” he says, a gentle but clear dismissal.

She doesn’t move. He looks tired and alone, and she’s struck by the realization that there’s no one there for him now that he doesn’t have a team. A beat of guilt follows, a fear that maybe she’s dropped the ball. She’s been so preoccupied with Pete and the wedding. Maybe she’s let him down?

She wishes she could tell him that she’s still got his back, but even if she could find the right words she doesn’t know how to speak them out loud without saying more than she should. Nevertheless, standing there looking at him carrying the burdens of this heavy command alone, she feels a swell of emotion. “Good night, sir,” she says in a voice that’s more feeling than she intends. “Don’t work too late.”

He glances up and for a moment there’s something warm in his eyes, something that makes her ache because she knows that, however much her life is changing, he’ll always be there for her. 

It’s that certainty, she thinks, that’s allowing her to let him go.

***

It’s not the worst day of his life.

There’s a whole battalion of desperate days lined up in his past that are much, much worse: fouled-up missions, stinking jail cells, torture and despair. The day his marriage ended. Yet none of them come close the blackest of days, marked by a single gunshot and an obscenely small coffin. 

So, no, the day Sam Carter marries Pete Shanahan is not the worst day of Jack’s life; he’s already lived that day. 

But that doesn’t make it easy.

He wears his dress blues because it’s either that or jeans. He’s definitely not buying a suit. Besides, the uniform is a stark reminder of reality should he have a sudden urge to jump up and shout, “I object!” Not to mention the fact that Shanahan finds it intimidating and he’s not above enjoying that, just a little. He’s got to take his pleasure where he can find it these days.

Daniel offers to drive, but Jack turns him down. He knows what Daniel’s thinking – that he’ll probably need a stiff drink to get through the dancing and the speeches – but Jack knows drinking at all would be a Bad Idea. Today, of all days, he can’t risk dropping his guard for a moment. Besides, he happens to know that Sgt Harriman will be calling him an hour into the wedding reception with an urgent recall to the SGC and he’ll need to be able to drive. He knows this because he’s given Harriman a direct order. There are some advantages, after all, to being base commander.

He figures Carter probably won’t buy the excuse, and Daniel and Teal’c certainly won’t, but he also figures they’ll all understand. It’s a little cowardly, perhaps, but he prefers to think of it as a strategic withdrawal rather than a rout. He’s never put much stock in bravado, and if you can get the hell out of Dodge without firing a shot then so much the better. So says Brigadier General O’Neill.

He parks as far away from the church as possible because he needs some time to brace himself before he enters the melee. Speaking of bravado, there are a lot of cops strutting around, heading into the church with their spiky-heeled wives and girlfriends. Unlike Jack, they’re all out of uniform but that doesn’t make them any harder to spot. 

He pauses for a moment when he turns off the engine and glances at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. He’s not sure who’s looking back at him from behind the dark glasses, but whoever he is, he’s stern and uncompromising. Jack tries a smile on for size, but it doesn’t really fit. Still, who’s going to be looking at him anyway?

Grabbing his keys and his phone, he climbs out of the cab and heads for the church. He’s surprised Carter’s getting married in church because she’s not really a person of faith, despite what it says on her dog tags. But he supposes that Shanahan shares his own Irish Catholic roots and Carter seems happy to go along with whatever he wants. And that surprises him too, but then there’s really nothing about this whole setup that doesn’t defy all his expectations.

Teal’c and Daniel are hovering near the church door, and although he’s deeply uncomfortable that they know what he’s feeling, he still appreciates that they’re there for him. The guys have got his back, as always.

“Jack,” Daniel says as he draws closer, eyebrows rising over the tops of his sunglasses. “So you went with the uniform, then?”

“I told you,” he says, “I don’t own a suit.”

Daniel nods. “And on your salary, how could you afford to buy one?”

He doesn’t respond to that, just turns to Teal’c. “Did you bring the rice?”

“I did.” Teal’c’s eyes narrow. “However, despite your suggestion, I did not cook it.”

That gives him the first genuine smile of the day and he throws a disapproving look at Daniel. “Spoilsport.”

Daniel rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses and says, “I guess we’d better go in.” 

Jack’s amusement, thin as morning mist, evaporates as his eyes turn to the church door where Shanahan is standing with the man who must be Mark Carter, the best man. It feels a little like stepping through the Stargate into enemy territory.

“Colonel O’Neill,” Shanahan says as they approach, grabbing Jack’s hand and pumping his arm up and down. “Glad you could make it.”

“It’s General O’Neill,” he corrects with an expression that’s probably nowhere near a smile. “And, uh, it’s good to be here.” 

Liar.

“It sure is!” 

There’s something weirdly intense about Shanahan, but Jack tries to push the thought aside. He’s going to have to like the guy, or at least tolerate him, after all. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, General,” Mark Carter says then. “Sam talks about you all the time. All of you, I mean,” he adds, gesturing to Daniel and Teal’c.

Jack offers the guy his hand once Shanahan eventually lets go. “It’s good to meet you, Mark,” he says, with more genuine sincerity. He tries to trace Carter in her brother’s face, but thinks he can mostly see Jacob. “I’m a friend of your father’s as well.”

Mark nods. “I know. Dad talks about you too, General.”

“I can imagine,” Jack says with a slight wince. 

And then Daniel is talking to Mark and Jack’s moving on into the cool shadow of the church.

Ushers direct him to the bride’s side of the aisle, and he sees – with some relief – that he’s not the only one in uniform. Behind him, he hears Daniel swallow a laugh and glances over his shoulder. “What?”

“It just feels a little _Westside Story_ ,” Daniel says, gesturing to the division in the church. USAF on one side, Denver’s finest on the other. “I hope there’s not going to be a ‘rumble’ later.”

“It’s a wedding,” Jack points out. “Although I can’t vouch for my stomach.”

“Since we are Air Force,” Teal’c says with a straight face, “perhaps we should sit with the ‘Jets’?”

Jack almost smiles at the joke. “Nice,” he says. “Funny.”

“Jets or Sharks, we should probably take our seats,” Daniel says and leads the way to a pew halfway down the aisle. It has a better view of the altar than Jack was hoping for, but he finds if he angles his head slightly to the left that Sgt Siler’s head blocks his view nicely. 

Daniel nudges his arm. 

“What?”

“You’re still wearing your sunglasses.”

“I know.”

“Jack?”

With a sigh, he pulls them off. “Fine.” 

Daniel matches his sigh. “I know I should feel happy for her,” he confesses in a whisper, “but I just—”

“Daniel,” he warns.

“No, I know. It’s just...I guess I never thought she’d actually go through with it.”

Jack shoots him a dark look. “You’re lucky she’s still talking to you, you know that?”

“Hey, I was just trying to be a friend,” he protests. “I wanted to make sure she was sure.”

“And she is,” Jack says. “Which is why we’re all sitting here. So just drop it, will you?”

Daniel retreats, but Jack can tell by the way he folds his arms over his chest that he’s still turning the problem over in his mind. A lot of good it will do him. 

It’s not long before Shanahan and Mark Carter enter to take their places at the front. A few of the cops call out encouragement and the buzz in the church begins to rise. Jack feels his heart rate accelerate in a way that makes his fingers itch for the reassuring weight of a weapon. His palms feel clammy and he actually starts to feel nauseous. He’s beginning to reassess today’s place in his list of worst days – it might make the top ten, after all. 

Then the music starts and his heart gives a horrible lurch as everyone, himself included, gets to their feet. There’s a lot of peering toward the back of the church but Jack feels like he’s standing to attention, eyes front. He doesn’t want to look at her.

He tries a little mental dissociation, lets his mind drift up past the rafters of the church, imagines himself in the cockpit of an F-16, punching through the clouds until there’s nothing but blue, blue sky above.

All around he can hear appreciative ‘ahhs’ and Daniel touches his arm, silently reminding him whose day this is. It’s not dissimilar to going into battle, the way he jams a lid on his feelings and braces himself as he turns his head – and there she is, the woman he loves. 

“She’s beautiful,” Daniel murmurs and Jack can only nod.

Sam walks down the aisle on her father’s arm. There might be a few flower girls too, but he’s not really paying attention to anything but her and the pain constricting his chest.

She sees her team and smiles like sunshine, but then she catches Jack’s eye and a flash of something difficult knocks the smile away. He wonders what she’s seen in his face and turns his head. The last thing he wants is to spoil things for her.

But then she’s past them and Shanahan steps forward to claim her and it begins.

Jack spends most of the service pretending he’s elsewhere or studying the back of Siler’s head. There’s sitting and kneeling and singing and more sitting and standing and at last it’s over. Music – Bach – plays and Jack manages to be not quite looking at Carter as she and Shanahan walk down the aisle, arm-in- arm.

 _It’s over_ , he tells himself firmly. _It’s done_. 

He wishes it felt like the end of the story.

***

In the parking lot outside, Teal’c is throwing rice – uncooked – but Jack spies Hammond on the edge of the crowd and heads toward him with relief. 

“Jack,” Hammond says, as they shake hands warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

He doesn’t miss the tone of sympathy in the general’s voice, but chooses to ignore it. “Did you just fly in this morning, sir?”

“And flying back this evening,” Hammond sighs. “But I wasn’t about to miss this.” His expression sobers. “Colonel Carter must miss her mother today.”

“Yeah, it’s tough on her.”

Hammond nods, his astute gaze narrowing. “And what about you?” he says, rocking back on his heels. 

Jack feigns innocence. “Me?”

There’s an eloquent silence after which Hammond, ever the gentleman, pretends he was asking an entirely different question. “Have you made a decision, Jack?” 

“Oh. That.” The truth is that he hasn’t made a decision. Washington is a long way from Stargate Command, from his friends and – he won’t lie to himself – from Carter. What he’s not sure about at the moment is whether those are reasons for or against taking the job. 

“I need to know soon,” Hammond says, his eyes moving over to the laughing crowd gathered around the happy couple as they climb into the wedding car.

“I know.”

“Things change, Jack,” he says, fixing him with a meaningful look. “You’ve been here eight years. That’s a long time.”

“You think I could use the break?” he says, and he’s not entirely talking about the job.

Hammond claps him on the shoulder. “There’s a lot going on in DC. I think it wouldn’t hurt to broaden your horizons, meet some new people.” And Jack knows he’s not entirely talking about the job either.

He gives a nod. “You’ll have my answer by Monday.”

***

The reception is being held in a bland hotel that Jack doesn’t recognize. There are the usual flowers and seating plans in the lobby but none of it feels like Carter’s style. He thinks – dangerously – that if _he’d_ married her it would have been by a judge at the county courthouse, with a handful of their friends, and a party at home afterward involving beer, barbecue, and lots of laughing.

But maybe this is what Carter prefers? He has to assume it is.

He pulls out his phone on the way in and skims through his messages, none of which are urgent, but it’s a good excuse not to meet anyone’s eyes. After Hammond’s less-than-subtle sympathy, he’s seized with the conviction that everyone from Stargate Command knows how he feels about Carter; he’s starting to feel a little like the specter at the feast.

“...it’s actually a very old tradition,” Daniel is telling Teal’c as Jack joins them. “No one really knows why it started, but it’s almost certainly a fertility ritual.” He glances at Jack and explains, “Throwing rice at weddings.”

“Ah.”

“The grains represent abundance,” Daniel carries on. “So presumably, it’s a way to ensure an abundant union, so to speak.”

Teal’c lifts an eyebrow. “I did not realize Colonel Carter wished to bear children.”

“Okay,” Jack says, ending that particular topic of conversation. “We should probably head in before—” Before Harriman calls is what he’s thinking, but he swerves in time to say, “Before someone eats all the cake.”

Daniel gives him a narrow-eyed look that’s too sympathetic for Jack’s liking. “I think there’s going to be plenty of cake, Jack.” Nevertheless, he leads the way toward the day’s last hurdle: the receiving line.

It feels like he’s lining up for his execution, shuffling along to shake hands with the groom and kiss the bride. But he’s rehearsed this in his head a hundred times so he knows how to handle it. The important thing will be not to look at Carter while he talks to Shanahan.

He says the right words to the people he assumes are Shanahan’s parents – _Great couple. Beautiful ceremony. Yes, I work with Colonel Carter_. 

And then it’s Jacob, looking slightly uncomfortable, and Jack wonders what the new symbiote is making of all this.

“Jack,” Jacob says, shaking his hand. “Glad you could make it.”

“Well,” he says with a smile. “I was passing anyway.”

Jacob nods and looks like he wants to say more, but isn’t quite sure if he should or if this is the right time. Certain that it’s neither, Jack claps him on the shoulder and says, “It’s a good day, Jacob. Sam looks happy.”

“You think?” he says with a glance toward his daughter. “She deserves a little happiness.”

“She does,” he agrees, and that’s the honest truth.

From the corner of his eye he can see Daniel ahead of him, smiling and saying what needs to be said to Shanahan. “We’ll catch up later,” Jack promises. “Before you head out.”

Jacob nods again but doesn’t lose the slight expression of unease. “You’re a good man, Jack,” he says, out of the blue. “I’ve always thought that.”

He lifts an eyebrow and puts the unusual outburst down to the new snake. Jacob just looks embarrassed and gestures for him to move on. 

He does, bracing himself as Shanahan grabs his hand for the second time that day. “Colonel O’Neill!” 

He doesn’t bother to correct him this time, just sticks to the script. “Congratulations, Shanahan. You’re a lucky man.”

“Don’t I know it,” comes the reply, with a warm look at Carter. “Sam’s one in a million.”

 _One in several billion_ , Jack thinks, but he says, “You got that right.” And then, letting his grip on the man’s hand tighten just enough to be noticed he says, “Take care of her, okay?”

Shanahan’s eyes widen; Jack can’t deny there’s a hint of menace in his voice. “Uh, of course I will.”

Jack drops his hand, gives him a curt nod. “Make sure you do.”

And then he moves on to the moment he’s been dreading for weeks. Carter turns from Daniel to him and it feels like everything stops. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Sir.” Her smile is wobbly and there’s so much emotion in her eyes that he can’t tell what she’s thinking. 

Probably no one is watching them, but it feels like all eyes are on him – waiting to see how he’ll react – so he does what’s expected and leans in for the obligatory kiss. His cheek grazes hers, his hand very light on the warm skin of her shoulder, the sensations electric. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs close to her ear, because he’s always thought it and this is the only time he’ll ever be able to tell her.

He’s not expecting the way her hand bites hard into his arm as she says, “Really?”

“Dazzling,” he says, pulling back, surprised at her response. 

She laughs, as if embarrassed, but her hand is still clutching his arm. “Thank you for being here,” she says, with a whole weight of meaning that the phrase isn’t used to bearing.

There’s no honest way to answer her, because he’s not glad to be there and he’d have missed it in a heartbeat if he’d had any kind of good excuse, so he says, “Look, you have a great time in...where is it you’re going?”

“It’s a cruise,” she supplies with a slight frown. 

“Right. Sun, sea, and...” He swallows the rest of that sentence. “Anyhow, we’ll keep things running smoothly while you’re away so enjoy the cruising and don’t think about work.”

“Don’t leave yet,” she says quietly.

Nonplussed, he stares at her. “What?”

“There are too many important people missing,” she says, full of emotion again, and he guesses she’s thinking about her mom and Fraiser. Cassie too. “Please, sir. Don’t go.”

“I wasn’t—” But he can’t give her the lie, not when she’s looking at him like that. “Hey,” he says instead, “I’m definitely staying for the cake.”

She laughs again but there are tears in her eyes and he’s never seen her so emotional. “Thanks,” she says, and leans in closer so her cheek touches his again. “Thanks for being here for me.”

“Always,” he says, closing his eyes against a sudden stab of pain because he can’t be there for her, not really, not in the way he wants to be.

She squeezes his arm one last time before she pulls back and dabs her fingertips under her eyes in the way women do when they want to stop their makeup from running. It seems like such an odd gesture on Carter, but then she hardly seems herself at all today. He wonders if maybe this is Sam, but he doubts that too. 

To their right, Teal’c is still valiantly talking to Shanahan, who is casting increasingly curious glances at his new wife. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Jack tells her at the moment his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out; it’s Harriman, right on cue. “Sorry,” he says as he backs away. “Work.”

She nods, but he can see doubt in her eyes and he realizes she knows exactly what he’s planning and now he’s not sure he can go through with it, not when she’s asked him point-blank to stay. 

He turns and puts the phone to his ear, his exit strategy collapsing all around him.

***

He’s too tightly wound to eat and doesn’t dare have a drink. 

He makes some calls in the foyer during the dinner, nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday, but it kills time and gets him away from the party and the speeches. But once the first dance is over he makes his way back to his table with the intention of finding Carter and saying goodbye. He figures he’s done more than his duty. 

“I thought you’d left already,” Daniel grumbles as Jack drops down into the seat next to him. Half the table is empty now, people mingling and dancing, and the atmosphere is more relaxed, the lighting lower. 

“Just had to deal with a minor crisis,” Jack says, which isn’t a lie if you consider a snafu with the requisitioning of 10,000 rolls of toilet paper to be a crisis. It had passed the time though, even if Harriman, bemused by the general’s interest, had tried several times to politely tell him to butt out. Still, it was amusing how fast contractors jumped, even on a weekend, when a Brigadier General got on the phone.

There are a few couples on the dance floor, swaying to the music provided by a band in the corner, and Carter and Shanahan are among them. Jack looks away, but not fast enough to avoid feeling a sharp barb of jealousy.

“Is it just me,” Daniel says, “or does this whole thing feel a little surreal?”

“You haven’t been eating those special brownies again, have you?”

Daniel favors him with a dark look and swallows a mouthful of wine. “They’re going on a cruise,” he says, as if that proves something.

Jack slides lower in the chair, stretching out his legs and loosening his tie. “Thousands of people go on cruises.”

“My point exactly.”

“Which is what?”

“That Sam — I don’t know, I just never thought she’d be into all that. Or all this,” he says, waving a hand around the room.

“Daniel,” Jack says, weary of this conversation. “Carter’s a grown-up. She can make her own decisions, and this is what she’s decided.”

“Oh come on,” Daniel presses, because he never quite knows when to walk away. “Don’t tell me you can imagine Sam lying by the pool for two weeks? She’ll be bored stiff.”

In fact, Jack _can_ imagine Carter lying by the pool. He shouldn’t, but he can imagine it all too vividly. However, he takes Daniel’s point about the boredom and he can’t help thinking that, if it had been him, he’d have taken her up to the cabin and just closed the door on the world for a couple of weeks – a little hiking, a little swimming, a little stargazing from the back of his boat. Perfect.

“Jack?”

“Huh?

“I said she’ll be bored stiff.”

He grunts, shaking the dangerous imaginings away, and says “I guess two weeks on the International Space Station wasn’t an option.”

“You know what I mean,” Daniel says, lowering his voice. “All this – don’t you think all of this is coming from Pete? None of this feels like Sam to me.”

Jack can feel his temper rise, not because Daniel’s wrong but because he’s right – that’s exactly what it feels like and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. “Carter _chose_ this,” he reminds them both, suddenly wishing he had a drink. “This is what she wants.”

 _Pete_ is what she wants. And that hurts just as much as it did the first time she showed him the ring.

“But _did_ she choose it?” Daniel persists. “I just think—”

“Colonel Carter,” Teal’c says loudly, getting to his feet. “Please join us.”

She’s heading toward them, flushed and beautiful from dancing, and Daniel gets to his feet and kisses her. “Sam,” he says, as if he hadn’t just been questioning her choices, “having fun?”

“Of course,” she says with a smile. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me in these stupid shoes.”

Jack hasn’t stood up, but he sits up straighter when she takes Daniel’s seat next to him. “Wine?” he offers, examining the half-empty bottles on the table as Carter kicks off her shoes. “Numbs the pain.”

“No,” she waves away the offer. “I’ve had plenty.”

With her sitting right there next to him he thinks he could use a little anesthetic himself and, despite his good intentions, pours a large glass. “To you,” he says and takes a long swallow.

She’s watching him through heavy lashes that don’t quite look real and her expression is unreadable. “Dance with me?” she says after a moment.

His mouth goes dry, his stomach plummeting. He gazes into the bottom of his glass, swirling the wine like it’s a fine brandy. “I’m a terrible dancer, Carter. I’ll tread on your toes.”

“I trust you,” she says and there’s something in her voice that makes him look up.

Past the dress and the hair, the extra-long lashes and the makeup, he can still see Carter and she looks like she needs him. He can’t explain why, but he can’t resist either. Suppressing a sigh he drains his glass – Dutch courage – and stands up, offering her his hand. “On your toes be it,” he warns her. 

She laughs – he likes that she still laughs at his stupid jokes – and takes his hand as she stands up. She leaves the shoes behind.

Jack throws Daniel a quick glance and catches the serious expression in his eyes as he leads Carter to the dance floor. If Daniel thinks he’s making a mistake, he might be right. But what can he do? 

People make way for Carter, of course, and they soon find themselves at the center of the crowd. That suits him because he feels somewhat hidden there. Not that they’re inconspicuous, him in his dress uniform and her every inch the bride. It reminds him of his own wedding, ironically. He’d worn his blues then, too; Sara had asked him to.

There’s a little awkward shuffle as they decide where to put their hands. They’ve slept sardined in a tent more times than he can count, he knows how she breathes when she’s dreaming, what she looks like as she wakes. They’ve lived together, died together, but they’ve never danced together. Odd, he thinks, that they’re doing it for the first time now – at her wedding. 

“I thought you’d left.” She looks at him with serious eyes as her fingers close around his hand. “I couldn’t see you anywhere.” 

“No cake yet,” he reminds her.

She gives a slight smile and draws closer. He tries not to wish he could stay like this forever, his hand on the small of her back and their bodies moving together to the music. 

“We’ll always be friends, won’t we, sir?”

He can’t help a wry lift of an eyebrow at her persistence. “ _Sir_?”

One elegantly polished fingernail taps the stars on his shoulder. “That’s how it is.”

And isn’t that exactly why he’s wearing the uniform, as a reminder that that’s how it is? He surrenders to the inevitable. “Yeah, we’ll always be friends, Carter.”

Her eyes fix on his as if she’s searching for something. “And I’ll always be here for you,” she says at last. “I want you to know that, sir. I’ll always have your back.”

A knot of emotion constricts his throat and he can only nod, pulling her close so she can’t see every inappropriate emotion he’s feeling. They’re not dancing now, he’s just holding her and he knows – he _knows_ – he has to let go, step back. But he can’t, he can’t let her go.

Over her shoulder he’s suddenly aware of Shanahan coming toward them, working his way through the crowd with a fixed smile and a clear purpose. Jack feels a rush of atavistic anger, a shocking desire to deck the guy right there and to hell with the consequences. If he’d had more to drink, he thinks he might just have done it. 

Instead he forces himself back under control, takes a steadying breath and loosens his hold on Carter so that when Shanahan takes her arm he’s already letting go. It doesn’t feel quite so much like she’s being torn out of his arms that way, but the loss of her still winds him like a punch.

“Excuse me, Colonel,” Shanahan says jovially, “I’ll take my wife back, if you don’t mind.”

Carter looks embarrassed as Jack backs off. “All yours,” he says, hands raised in surrender.

“ _Pete_ ,” Carter objects, “we were dancing.”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind, Sam. It’s our wedding!” Shanahan pulls her into his arms with a grin that leaves Jack breathless with envy. “Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

“Go right ahead,” Jack says, amazed he sounds so normal. “I need to make a call anyway.”

“It’s _General_ O’Neill,” Carter’s saying, sounding confused and uncomfortable.

But Jack doesn’t hear Shanahan’s reply. Seeing him touch her like that, possess her like that, is too much and he’s already leaving. There’s a single malt with his name on it at home and his sorrows are begging to be drowned. But halfway to the door he catches sight of Hammond and Jacob propping up the bar and in a sudden, unexpected rush of relief he knows exactly what he wants to do. 

“Jack,” Hammond says, smiling as he approaches.

“I won’t interrupt you, sir,” Jack says with a nod to Jacob. “I’m heading home but I just wanted to tell you that I’ve made my decision.”

Hammond flicks a glance at Jacob who does a passable job of not responding. “Have you, son?” 

Jack eyes them both and thinks he probably should have felt his ears burning all evening. Not that it matters now because he’s about to put this whole mess behind him once and for all. “Yes sir,” he says, almost coming to attention. “I’d like to accept the job at Homeworld Security.”

 

Daniel doesn’t seem surprised when Jack tells him he’s leaving. 

They go out for steak and beer and get ridiculously drunk. They talk a lot about the old days, about how it all began, and how astonishing and awful it was all at the same time.

Daniel talks about Sam and Teal’c, how they should be there with them. But Teal’c’s off rebuilding the government of his people and Sam’s floating around the Caribbean with Pete – and that’s her choice, Jack reminds him.

Daniel says it feels like everything’s changing. 

Jack tells him everything _is_.

Later, when they’re sprawled in Jack’s backyard and staring up at the stars, Daniel says “Does she know how you feel?”

“Who?” he says, being deliberately obtuse because he doesn’t want to talk about Carter.

Daniel sighs. “Hathor. Who else?”

“Hey, Hathor was into you,” Jack says watching the stars revolve far, far above. Or maybe it’s him who’s revolving? “Also, dead.”

“I’m talking about Sam,” Daniel says, not playing along. 

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the sky. “What does it matter?”

“You never told her?”

He sighs and closes his eyes, because the world won’t stop spinning and Daniel won’t stop talking. “She knows.”

After a silence, Daniel says, “For what it’s worth, I think Pete’s an ass.”

Jack laughs and it feels good, it feels like a respite from the darkness. “Total fucking ass,” he agrees. 

“Boring too.”

“God, yeah.”

More silence and he can hear Daniel sigh again. “I’m gonna miss you, Jack. Crazy as that sounds.”

“Nah,” Jack says, trying not to think about how much he’ll miss Daniel, and Teal’c — everyone. “Come visit. DC’s full of museums, you’ll love it.”

“Unless I go to Atlantis.”

“Yeah. Never gonna happen, buddy.”

Daniel sits up and Jack opens an eye to look at him. He’s rubbing his hands over his face, straightening his glasses. “I need another beer,” he says. “Or a bed.”

“Couch is all yours.”

He grunts and gets to his feet, wobbling slightly. “Coming in?”

“Later,” Jack says.

Daniel nods and heads toward the house at a jaunty angle. But he stops when he reaches the deck, holding onto the rail as he turns back around. “Is she why you’re leaving?” he says, as if the thought just crossed his mind. “Are you leaving because of Sam?”

Jack stares up at the stars they used to roam together, back in those vital, exhilarating days where every step was a step into the unknown and the only certainty was his team at his back. 

He’s earthbound now and she’s moving on without him, leaving him behind as she blazes a bright new trail. He sighs and says, “What else did you think?”

***

Carter _is_ surprised when he tells her. She’s so surprised and so angry that she gives him nothing but ‘Yes sir’ and ‘No sir’ for a full week, at the end of which he finds her acceptance of the R &D post at Groom Lake on his desk.

She leaves a week before he transfers to DC. 

Her command farewell party is at a bar off-base so that Shanahan can gatecrash, and Jack’s surprised Carter agreed to it because it means no one on-duty can drop in to say goodbye and the conversation is restricted by everything that can’t be said in public. But they’re newlyweds, he figures, which explains the lack of boundaries.

Jack doesn’t stay for long, although as base commander he’s forced to make the speech and this time Thor’s not there to pull his ass out of the fire. Luckily he’s preaching to the choir and everyone’s already had a few beers, so they cheer on everything he says about Carter’s genius, her warmth, her bravery and the prospects for her stratospheric career beyond the SGC.

Shanahan manages to somehow look both proud and envious at the same time, as if he hasn’t yet figured out that the woman he’s married is quite literally exceptional and will outclass anything he can ever achieve in his own little life. 

Occasionally Jack catches her gaze turned toward him but she always looks away quickly and her eyes haven’t lost their angry glitter. It irritates him, her anger, and he welcomes the sensation – anything to cut the intense sense of loss these last few months have brought. He’s never blamed her for falling in love with another man, so he doesn’t see why she gets to blame him for moving on in his own way.

With duty done Jack decides to go home, because who can really let their hair down with a general sitting at the table? Besides, Carter’s hip-to-hip with Shanahan and he can live without seeing any more of that. 

Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair he says his good nights. Daniel asks if he wants company, but he doesn’t – he wants peace and quiet. He glances toward Carter and she’s saying something to Shanahan as she stands up. There’s a kind of indecision in the way she moves until she catches his eye. Her lips tighten and by unspoken agreement he heads around the table and she walks toward the door, where they meet.

“You’re leaving?”

He feels like she’s been accusing him of that a lot, lately. Although he thinks, with schoolyard pettiness, that she started it. “Too old for all this merriment,” he says, and he’s only half joking. “I’ve got an early start.”

“So I guess this is it, then.” There’s belligerence in her eyes but he knows it’s masking the same ache he’s feeling. Whatever else they’ve been to each other, they’ve always been friends.

“It’s not like we won’t see each other,” he says, trying to convince himself as much as her. “And I believe there’s some kind of electronic mail people are using these days, and telephones without wires.”

She tries to glare but he can see her lips twist briefly toward a smile before they wobble and she swipes her hands across her eyes. “Damn it,” she mutters. “I swore I wouldn’t cry.”

His familiar protective urge is so strong he would have hugged her if Shanahan hadn’t been watching them from his seat at the table. He lifts a hand to wave; Jack ignores him and turns back to Carter. In lieu of a hug, he gives her a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Knock ‘em dead, Colonel,” he says. “Those geeks in Nevada won’t know what hit them.”

“You too, sir,” she says, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing. “Give ‘em hell in DC.”

“You can count on it.”

He blows out a breath, because this is it – this is the end – and he’s not sure how he’ll walk out the door. But he can’t dawdle any longer, not with Shanahan and the whole base watching. “Keep in touch,” he says, and he can’t quite believe that this is how it’s ending between them after everything they’ve shared. _Keep in touch?_

She nods, lips pressed tight, and she’s blinking back tears but there’s nothing he can do and he’s afraid that if he doesn’t go he might not hold it together either. So he just squeezes her arm, once, and leaves the bar.

Outside the door he stops, takes a few steadying breaths in a vain attempt to ease the knot in his chest. They don’t really help. Walking away from her is hard, physically hard, like there’s a gravitational pull that’s working against him. His boots scuff the gravel, his whole body is leaden, and he’s only made it halfway across the parking lot when the bar door flies open, spilling out noise and light, and Carter’s voice chases after him.

“Sir, wait!”

He turns and she’s running toward him and doesn’t stop until she flings her arms around him and hugs him really, really tight. “I’m so mad at you,” she hisses into his ear. “I’m so mad you’re leaving.”

“I know,” he says and he can’t help the way his arms wrap around her, the way he buries his face against her neck for the very last time. 

Behind her, the door opens again. “Sam?” It’s Shanahan. “Everything okay?”

She hugs him tighter and he can’t help pressing a kiss against the warm skin just below her ear. She makes a sound, a breath of surprise, and then he’s letting her go and she’s turning back to her husband and Jack knows, without a doubt, that his decision to leave the program was absolutely right.


	2. Rapprochement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s two months before Sam sees General O’Neill again. Two months in which her life changes beyond recognition.

It’s two months before Sam sees General O’Neill again. Two months in which her life changes beyond recognition.

Instead of a weekly mission rota taking her to distant worlds, she’s a geo-bachelor at Groom Lake while Pete reluctantly stays put in Colorado Springs and oversees the work on the house. She’s explained that it’s best this way, that it’s not worth him uprooting every time she has a new posting, and he’s grudgingly accepted the idea, although he’s clearly not happy about it. But the predictable hours and lack of off-world crises are slowly winning him over and she thinks the weekly round trip back to Colorado Springs is worth the effort to keep him happy. Besides, it means she gets to check in on Daniel too, on those rare weekends when Pete hasn’t already made plans.

The work itself is fascinating and she’s enjoying the intellectual challenge, exercising her scientific brain instead of her military muscle for a change. And she can’t deny it’s nice not being shot at on a regular basis.

If she misses the adrenaline rush of the front line she doesn’t admit it to herself; there are lots of things she misses and there’s no point in dwelling on any of them. _Eyes front_ , her dad would say. _No looking back_.

She normally flies home on Friday night and back early Monday morning, but this week she’ll be in DC, so she’s leaving late Sunday for an early meeting at the Pentagon.

“You know,” Pete says as he throws her bags in the trunk, “I’ve been thinking about all this.”

“All this?” she says, laying her garment bag on the back seat. 

“You being a ‘geo-bachelor’,” he says, putting air quotes around the expression.

“Look, I know it’s hard,” she says, “but it won’t be—”

“No, it’s not that.” He slams the trunk shut and climbs into the driver’s seat of his car. 

Sam suddenly misses her Volvo, parked in the garage back at her own house. Her _old_ house, she corrects herself, which she still needs to put on the market. 

“I was thinking that it’s actually perfect timing,” Pete says.

She slips her sunglasses on against the early evening sunshine and reaches for her seatbelt. “In what way?”

“Well, the clock’s ticking,” he says, turning the key and jamming his foot on the gas, over-revving the engine. “And maybe now’s the time?”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say.

“I mean kids,” he explains, unnecessarily. “Now that you’re not off-world and all that, it would be a good time to start trying. Don’t you think?”

They drive in silence for a while. “I’ve just started a new job,” she says after a while. “A _great_ new job.”

“It’s still just a job. You can’t compare it to having a family.”

She turns her head, gazes out at the city streets whipping past. “It’s not something we’ve talked much about.”

“No, but it’s something we both want.” He asserts it as fact and she supposes it’s true. After all, by her age, her mom already had two kids. “We can’t wait forever, Sam,” Pete says. “Or it might never happen.”

If her mom had waited this long she’d have died before Sam had the chance to be born. That’s a fact she’s not sure how to process.

“So what do you think?” 

“I think we should discuss it,” she says. “But not now, when we have more time.”

“We never have time,” Pete grumbles. “We could have talked about it tonight if you weren’t heading out so early.”

“I told you,” she snaps. “I have an eight o’clock meeting. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Oh, so now you’re angry?” 

“I’m not angry. I’m just— This isn’t easy for me either, you know? And I’ve got a hell of a week ahead.” 

Pete’s silent for a beat. “It’s only because I miss you,” he says. “It’s only because I want to be with my wife. Is that so unreasonable?”

“Of course not,” she sighs. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

“ _You’re_ what I signed up for.” He puts a hand on her knee. “Just remember, there’s more to life than work. We’ve got a whole future ahead of us, Sam.”

He must be right, because that future is what she’s been looking for, isn’t it? Family suppers, lazy Sundays in the park with the kids, Little League, date nights: it’s the life she saw passing her by while she was clinging to something impossible. But now that she has it, now that that future is within her grasp, why is it that all she can think about is the peace dividend taking shape at Groom Lake, and how she wants to build a legacy on behalf of those who didn’t live to see their victory?

 _Perverse_ , she decides. _I’m being perverse._

Pete drops her off early for her flight so he can get back in time for the game. She doesn’t mind because it gives her time in the departure lounge to go through the papers for the next day’s meetings. The early meeting is straightforward – just an hour with the new CIA liaison to Groom Lake, going through some updates on FOIA requests that they’re planning to turn down. But it’s the meeting after that which steals her attention. 

She slips the agenda out of her folder and examines the list of attendees. She doesn’t get very far; Major General Jack O’Neill is top of the list, chairing the meeting.

It’ll be the first time they’ve met since they said goodbye, the first time they’ve had any kind of communication. She’s started a dozen emails, but can’t get the tone right because she’s not entirely sure what happened that night outside the bar. She can still feel his brief, hot kiss against her neck and it seems to get in the way of the bright and breezy email she feels she should send.

Perhaps he feels the same, because he hasn’t made contact with her either – beyond the generic email he sent around to all department heads after he took up his post. This will be their first official meeting, the first time the new Head of Homeworld Security meets the other senior staff in the Stargate Program. She thinks she should have called him beforehand, to break the ice after that confusing and emotional farewell, but somehow she’s always found a reason to put it off. And now here she is staring at his name on an agenda and knowing that in the morning she’ll have to walk into the meeting and try not to remember eight years of complicated history and the feel of his lips against her skin.

Stupid. 

She glances at her phone – they won’t start boarding her flight for half an hour – and she realizes that, if she’s going to do it, now’s the time. It’ll be too late in DC once they’ve landed. Her mouth goes dry at the thought, her fingers clumsy as she picks up the phone and scrolls down to find his number. But she smiles a little when she realizes it’s still listed under ‘Colonel O’Neill’.

Making a mental note not to actually call him that, she hits dial and presses the phone to her ear. Ridiculously – how often has she called him over the years? – her stomach is fluttering as the number speed dials. But then, instead of the familiar ring, a sharp woman’s voice comes on the line informing her that the number is no longer in use.

She tries again, in case it somehow misdialed, but there’s no getting away from the truth. He’s changed his number. He changed his number and didn’t tell her.

So much for always being friends.

***

Kerry Johnson feels a little swoop of pleasure as she watches Jack adjust his tie in the mirror and slip on his jacket. 

“Handsome,” she accuses as she steps into her shoes and reaches for her coat. 

He gives a faint smile, but he’s distant this morning; something’s on his mind. He’s been like this since last night and she wonders if that’s why he’d invited himself over in the first place. They don’t usually do this when they’re working the next day, mostly because they’re both too tired but partly because it help keeps things casual – which is what they both want.

But he called her late last night and suggested dinner and there was something in his voice that made her think it was more than a casual invitation. For whatever reason, he needed the company and Kerry understood. Regrets have a way of catching up with you when you least expect them.

She touches his arm, draws his attention to her. “You okay?”

“Long day ahead,” he says. 

“Stop by later, if you like. I’ll be home by nine.”

He hesitates. “Maybe. I’ll call you.”

“Fine.” She glances at her watch. “I gotta run,” she says. “Early meeting.”

“Hey,” he catches hold of her hand and tugs her back. “Thanks for last night.”

She cocks her head. “You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “I wasn’t doing you a favor.”

“I meant—”

She puts a finger to his lips. “I know what you meant. It’s fine.” She reaches up and kisses him. “Have a good day, General.” She’s halfway to the door when she remembers. “Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m meeting one of your old teammates today.”

His face doesn’t flicker. “Colonel Carter.” 

“That’s right – she’s based at Groom Lake now?”

He nods and goes back to adjusting his tie. “I heard she was in town.” 

Kerry arrives early for the meeting and grabs coffee on her way. She knows Colonel Carter by sight from her brief tenure at Stargate Command and has heard nothing but good things about her. In fact, if she’s honest with herself, which she likes to be, she’s a little intimidated by Colonel Carter. The woman’s resume reads like science fiction, just like Jack’s, and it feels more than a little petty to be discussing the bureaucratic details of FOIA requests with a woman who’s actually done battle with hostile aliens. Nevertheless, the boxes have to be checked – even by intergalactic superheroes.

Carter arrives exactly on time and Kerry almost doesn’t recognize her in her dress blues, more used to seeing her in the BDUs they favor at Cheyenne Mountain. She stands up with a smile and offers her hand. “Colonel,” she says. “Good to see you again.”

“Agent Johnson,” Carter says, shaking hands. “How are you?”

“Good,” she says as they sit down. “Just getting my head wrapped around Groom Lake – there’s rather more research going on there than at the SGC.”

“Sure is,” Carter says with a smile. “Fewer alien incursions, however.”

“That’s always a plus.” She can see Carter’s eyes drifting enviously to her coffee and thinks she’ll keep the meeting brief. “So,” she starts, “thanks for coming. This won’t take long.”

It doesn’t, because Carter’s as ferociously smart as her reputation implies and she cuts straight to the point on every issue and makes quick, resolute decisions. She’s very easy to do business with; Kerry likes her a lot. Half an hour ahead of schedule, she closes her notebook and says “Great, Colonel, we’re done. Thanks so much for your time.”

“No problem,” Carter says. “It was past time we met anyhow, so I’m glad we got the chance to catch up while I’m up here.”

“You’re in DC all week?”

“Yeah, trying to pack as many meetings in as possible,” she says, making a face. 

“Can you imagine how much work we’d get done,” Kerry says, “if we didn’t have any meetings?”

Carter smiles, but then she glances at her watch and her expression changes. “I could use a cup of coffee before the next one,” she says after a moment. “Is there somewhere nearby? I’ve got a half hour.”

“Oh sure,” Kerry says, getting to her feet. “I’m heading that way myself, I’ll show you.”

It’s as Carter’s opening the door that Kerry spots the large, sparkly ring on her finger. “Wow,” she says, not above a little diamond admiration, “that’s beautiful.”

“Oh.” Carter glances at her hand with a self-conscious smile. “Thanks – it’s bigger than I would have chosen, but it _is_ lovely.”

“It is,” Kerry says, suddenly aware of her own bare finger. “I didn’t know you were married, actually.”

“Just for the last couple of months.”

“Well, congratulations,” she says with a smile. “I actually got divorced a couple of months ago, so...”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Kerry waves her concern away. “Just one of those things – don’t let me put you off.” She heads toward the elevator, Carter at her side. “So who is he? Someone at Stargate Command?”

“No,” she says quickly. “No, he’s a police officer. A detective.”

“Impressive,” Kerry says. “It’s hard to meet people outside the job – even more so for you, I imagine.”

“Oh you have _no_ idea.” And then, with a slight grimace, she adds, “My brother set us up on a blind date.”

“Really? Well, that’s doubly impressive.”

Carter laughs. “How about you? Just enjoying some space?”

She shrugs and tries not to sound evasive. Jack doesn’t want anyone at work to know and she’s okay with that. It helps keep things simple. “Actually there is someone,” she says, “but it’s pretty casual. He’s getting over a painful break-up and neither of us is looking for anything heavy. It’s fun, though.” She can’t help a little flush as she smiles. “He’s great.”

“That’s nice,” Carter says. “Nothing wrong with just having some fun, right?”

“That’s exactly what he says.”

They slow as they reach the coffee shop and Carter thanks her for showing her the way. “Uh, listen,” she says as Kerry’s turning to leave, “this might be a little forward, but do you want to get a drink or something this week? We’ll be working together pretty closely so...” She gives a self-conscious smile. “The truth is, I’ll be stuck in my hotel room every evening and I don’t get to meet a lot of other women in this job and it’s nice to— Sometimes, it’s nice to talk girl stuff, you know? I mean, only if you’re not busy.”

“I’m not busy,” Kerry says, pleased. “And I’d love to talk girl stuff with you, Colonel Carter. How about tomorrow?”

“Great,” she says, and her smile is suddenly the brightest thing in the room. “And please, call me Sam.”

***

It’s seven weeks and three days since he last saw Carter. Not that he’s counting.

He’s missed her intensely, but he thinks going cold turkey was definitely the right decision. He hasn’t called, texted, or emailed – he’s just let it slide and given himself time to get some perspective. Besides, he’s been swamped with work and that’s been an effective distraction. 

So has Kerry.

He likes Kerry a lot. She’s undemanding and fun. Being with her keeps him in the moment, stops him from brooding on regrets and things he can’t change. She makes him feel less like he got left behind and more like he’s chosen a different path. He guesses she’s good for his bruised ego – and his bruised heart. He hopes he’s good for her too.

Nearly two months after leaving the SGC he has a new house, a new job, and a woman in his life – his first actual relationship since Sara. All things considered, he figures he should be able to meet Colonel Carter without that familiar sweet, sad pain tightening his chest. 

He thinks that right up until the moment he arrives early for the meeting and finds her already sitting in the room, sipping coffee. The reality of her, vivid in the bland, unremarkable meeting room, stops him dead. His stomach tailspins and he realizes that seven weeks is no more than the blink of an eye and that seven years probably won’t be enough to get over her. All he can do now is make sure she doesn’t see it in his face.

She looks up, and their eyes meet. “General O’Neill,” she says, getting to her feet. There’s a tight expression around her mouth that makes her look wary. “Good to see you again, sir.”

“Likewise, Colonel,” he says. At least he thinks it’s him. The words come out of his mouth, but he has no idea where that steady, composed voice came from. 

She glances behind him at the door and he wonders if she’s considering bolting. “I’m early,” she says.

“Me too.” They’re in danger of just standing there staring at each other, so he gestures at her to sit down and reaches for something else to say, something neutral, and comes up with, “Did you fly in this morning?”

It’s pretty inane but she grabs it like a lifeboat. “Last night,” she says, sitting down. “I had an early meeting.”

Right. The pieces come together. She just met with Kerry, which is all kinds of awkward that he doesn’t want to think about. “Well, we’re just waiting for a few other people,” he says, stating the obvious as he glances around the empty room. 

“Yes sir.” She opens her folder, pulls out her papers. Her hair is longer than last time he saw her, falling forward until she tucks it behind her ear. Just where he kissed her seven weeks and three days ago.

He swallows and takes a seat opposite and slightly to her left, out of her direct line of sight. The silence is becoming heavy with unspoken words; one of them needs to say something. “How’s the new job?” he ventures.

“It’s good, sir,” she says, giving him a brief glance. Something’s definitely bothering her. In fact, she looks distinctly pissed. He goes cold at the thought that it’s because of the way they parted. 

He clears his throat and forces himself to say, “And Shanahan? How does he like Nevada?”

“Pete’s still in Colorado,” she says, without looking up. “I’m commuting weekly.”

He grimaces. “That’s not easy.”

“We think it’s worth it.”

And that told _him_. He shifts awkwardly. “Carter—”

“I tried to call you, sir,” she says with a rare flare of heat in her eyes, the kind that says he’s gone too far. “You’ve changed your number.”

He feels a rush of relief because, although she’s pissed, it’s not because of what happened outside the bar. At least, not directly. “I—” He clears his throat. “My phone broke.”

She looks skeptical. “It broke, sir?”

“Yes.” It broke the night they said goodbye. It broke when it hit the wall he threw it against to stop himself from calling her and telling her that losing her was killing him. “You know me and technology, Carter,” he says evenly. “I couldn’t figure out how to move all the numbers over.”

“You just transfer the SIM,” she says.

He gives her a convincingly blank stare. “The what?”

She frowns, but he thinks there might a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. Dryly she says, “Did you forget how to use email too, sir?”

The dichotomy with Carter these days is that the more she makes him smile, the more it hurts. “I prefer carrier pigeon.” 

She shakes her head, but there’s a genuine frustrated smile when she looks at him. “Sir, can we—?”

“Morning, General.” Malcolm Barrett steps into the room with a file tucked under his arm and a coffee in his other hand. He smiles at Carter. “Colonel, good to see you again.”

“Agent Barrett.” She gets to her feet, shakes his hand. “How are you?”

And so the moment passes and the meeting begins. It’s just a ‘get to know you’ really, two hours of department heads briefing him on their current projects, objectives, and budgets. Two hours of him trying not to gaze at Carter the whole time, yet repeatedly failing and catching her eye before they both awkwardly look away. Two hours of wondering whether the whole room can see little cartoon hearts floating in his eyes when he looks at her. 

But at last it’s over and Barrett’s finishing the final item on the agenda, updating them all on a dozen internal security issues.

“Finally, Colonel,” he says to Carter, “I’m still waiting to hear back on a couple of things but your enhanced clearance should be through by the end of the week.”

“So I have until then to organize my secret plan to take over the world?” she says. And then, to the silent room, she adds an embarrassed, “Joke.”

But Barrett smiles and Jack remembers he always had a soft spot for Carter. He’d tell him to get to the back of the line, except there’s no line anymore. “Thanks, Barrett,” he says. “We’ll trust you to keep the colonel’s megalomaniac tendencies in check.” He glances around at everyone else. “Any other business?”

“Uh, one thing actually,” Carter says. But then, registering the impatient paper shuffling going on all around her she says, “Actually, sir, I can talk to you about it after the meeting if you’ve got five minutes.”

“For you, Carter,” he says, “I have five and a half.”

He’s rewarded for playing nice with a smile that almost knocks him over and he’s forced to start shuffling his own papers to keep from grinning. Or jumping over the table and kissing her. One or the other.

The room empties as fast as a leaky bucket and pretty soon it’s just the two of them. Outside he can see people waiting – meeting rooms are like gold dust in this place – so he jerks his head toward the door and says, “Want to see my office?”

“Of course, sir.”

She smiles again and it feels good to walk out with her at his side. In her heels, she’s only a couple of inches shorter than him and when he glances at her their eyes meet on the level. “It’s good to see you again, Carter.” 

“You too, General.” 

He’s in danger of losing himself in the warmth of those eyes, so he drops her gaze and says, “You caught up with Daniel recently?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” she says. “I’m usually pretty busy on weekends though.” She makes a face. “We’re fixing up the house.”

The idea, the reality of that, makes him uncomfortable. All he says is, “Right.” 

“But,” Carter hurries on, “Daniel’s good. He’s almost literally buried himself in research since everything went quiet. I’m not sure he ever leaves the mountain anymore.”

Jack laughs, because he can absolutely believe it. “Give me the word, Carter,” he says as they reach his outer office, “and I’ll authorize a search and rescue.”

Carter chuckles but can’t reply because as soon as Jack steps into the office Major Lee, one of his aides, hurries forward. “Sir,” she says, “I’ve just had a call from the White House. There’s a problem.”

“Where?”

“Cheyenne Mountain, sir. They need you in the situation room right now.”

He looks immediately at Carter and suddenly nothing has changed. “Call me if I can help, sir,” she says, because she knows he has to go and that she can’t go with him.

He nods. “As soon as I know anything.”

And then she’s stepping aside as he heads out to the car that will take him to the White House. One final glance over his shoulder finds her eyes fixed on him with that same unswerving loyalty she’s always given him and he thinks, with a beat of triumph, that Shanahan will never get moments like that. 

***

The waiting is interminable. She tries calling Daniel on his cell and his base number, but the lines are down. Standard procedure in a lockdown, which is what she assumes has happened. 

It could be something trivial, she knows that. But it could be something terrible and she’s not there to help. She’s sitting in a budget meeting trying to concentrate on spreadsheets printed so tiny that she’s beginning to wonder if she needs glasses. Meanwhile, something is happening at the SGC. 

The afternoon crawls past and even though she leaves her phone on the table in every meeting he doesn’t call. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad news, but it makes it difficult to concentrate. For all she knows, next year’s staff budget will be totally irrelevant because a hitherto unknown alien species is establishing a foothold in the SGC as they speak. Or an alien virus is even now escaping through the air vents. Or a black hole is trying to suck Earth through the Stargate, or—

“Colonel Carter?” 

She blinks and realizes the meeting has ended and that she’s still staring sightless at the spreadsheet. 

“Long day, ma’am?” the major says, shoving an armful of papers into his bag.

“Yeah,” she agrees with an approximation of a smile and another glance at her cell. “Feels like forever.”

She swings past the general’s office after her last meeting but they haven’t heard anything – at least, nothing they’re allowed to tell her – and because she can’t just hang out there waiting she has no choice but to head back to her hotel.

She’s standing outside in the dying light of the day, trying to decide whether to walk or take the metro, when her cell rings. It’s an unknown number and she puts it to her ear, heart thumping. “Colonel Carter.”

“Carter, it’s me.”

“Sir.” Thank God. “What’s the situation?”

“It’s fine,” he says, sounding weary but slightly amused. “Same old same old.” Which is about all he can say over an unsecured line. 

“I tried to call Daniel,” she says.

“Yeah, we had to lock the base down. He was pissed.”

She smiles at the humor in his voice and feels the weight lifting from her shoulders. “It’s difficult,” she confesses. “Not being there.”

“Tell me about it.”

Silence crackles over the line, a static hiss of things unsaid. She clears her throat. “Well I should—”

“Do you want—” He says it at the exact same moment she speaks and the collision derails them both. 

Another beat of silence then the bleep on her line alerts her to an incoming call: it’s Pete. She feels an irrational flash of guilt when she ignores it. “Sorry, sir, what were you saying?”

“You’re probably tired,” he says, like he’s testing the water. “You heading back to your hotel?”

She glances up at the massive building behind her. “Actually,” she says, “I haven’t left yet.” It’s not strictly true; neither is it strictly a lie. She doesn’t know why she says it.

“I’m just pulling up,” he says and absurdly she glances around, as if he’d be pulling up right next to her. “If you’ve got time, we could pick up where we left off? This morning,” he adds quickly. “We got interrupted earlier.”

She smiles, something warm blossoming in her chest. Friendship, she tells herself firmly. He’s an old friend whom she’s missed. “Should I meet you in your office, sir?”

“I’ll see if I can find us something to eat,” he says before he hangs up.

It’s close to seven by the time she makes her way past security and back up to Jack’s office. The place is quieter now, but Major Lee is still there when Sam steps into the outer office.

“Colonel Carter,” she says, getting up smartly. “General O’Neill just called – can you wait in his office for a couple of minutes, ma’am? He got held up with something but will be here soon.”

“Of course.” The major is young and eager and Sam remembers being like her once, long ago. 

“The general asked me to rustle up some food, ma’am,” she carries on, leading Sam into Jack’s office. “There’s not much left this time of night.”

Sam spies a couple of sandwiches, chips, muffins and sodas on a low table next to two comfortable visitors’ chairs. “That looks great,” she says. “Thank you, Major.”

“Is there anything else you need, ma’am?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just wait.”

Left alone in the office, Sam takes a moment to consider where she is: the office of the Head of Homeland security, Major General Jack O’Neill. 

She’s impressed, but then he’s always impressed her. The office is large and serious and it brings home the weight of responsibility he’s now carrying. Not that she didn’t always think he was destined to reach the highest ranks, it’s just that standing here in his office in the heart of the Pentagon she feels a swell of pride in him that takes her right back to the early days of SG-1, when she’d been trying so hard to win his approval. She thinks that perhaps she’s still trying to win his approval, in different ways. Trying to be the officer he expects her to be, trying to be the person he expects her to be.

His desk is neat and uncluttered – not surprising, given the number of staff he must have organizing his paperwork – and on the shelves behind it she spots a scattering of photos among the books and papers. Some are old, like one of the general – or perhaps he was Captain O’Neill back then? – with a team she doesn’t recognize, posing in front of an F-18 Hornet which, she guesses, would have been new at the time. She steps around the desk to look closer and smiles at the sight of him looking so young, not much more than a boy, and wearing a grin that makes him look even younger than the twenty-something he must have been.

There are a couple of other older framed pictures – in one she recognizes, with a pang, Major Kawalsky – and then there’s one that isn’t in a frame, just propped up against the books. It’s of SG-1, and she reaches for it instantly, taking it down to examine.

It must have been taken a couple of years into the operation of the program, back in the days when Daniel still assiduously photographed everything. It’s clearly off-world but she can’t remember where, although she does remember how Daniel used to like to set the self-timer and take what the colonel had disparagingly called ‘tourist photos’. But she’s glad he took this one, because it’s great. The colonel has his arm draped around her shoulders and it reminds her that there was a time when that kind of casual contact between them was still possible. Daniel is serious with his long hair sticking out from under his boonie hat, and Teal’c is looking stoic but amused, while she and the colonel are grinning in a way that makes her think he’s just cracked a stupid joke.

She turns the photo over, looking for a date, but instead there’s a message in Daniel’s scrawling handwriting – _Good luck in DC, Jack. Never forget we’ve all still got your back_.

He’s underlined the ‘all’ and Sam’s just puzzling over that when she hears the general’s voice. Major Lee is on her feet, walking with him toward his office and Sam’s suddenly aware that she’s standing behind his desk poking about rather familiarly in his personal belongings. 

“…only had a couple of sandwiches left, sir,” Lee’s saying as they step inside. 

Sam freezes, figuring it would look worse if she suddenly vaulted over the desk. The general glances at her once, with mild curiosity, and then turns back to the major.

“I appreciate it, Liu,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and handing over a twenty. “Thanks.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that much, sir.”

He waves her concern away. “Owe me,” he says. “Now get out of here and go home.”

“Yes sir, there are just a couple of things—”

“Ah!” He holds up a hand to stop her. “We talked about this, Major.”

Sam is amused to see the wide-eyed expression on Lee’s face. “Yes sir, but—”

“Is it anything that’s going to blow up overnight? Either literally or figuratively?”

Lee shakes her head. “No sir, I just thought—“

“So we can deal with it in the morning?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Then go, do something fun, Major. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” She turns and nods to Sam. “Colonel Carter.” And then she’s gone and the general stands there watching her for a moment as she shuts down her PC and fetches her coat.

“What is it with these kids?” he says at last. “They never want to go home.”

“Youthful enthusiasm.” Sam glances at the photo in her hand with a sudden pang of nostalgia. “I remember that.”

“Yeah,” he says in that affectionate voice he sometimes uses, the one that always made her tingle. “I could never get you to go home either.”

She looks up and for a moment their gaze holds before his eyes dip to the photo in her hand. “Those were the days, huh?”

“The best,” she says, putting it back on the shelf.

The general heads over to one of the visitor’s chairs and sits down, sorting through the food. “Tuna?” he says, offering her one of the sandwiches.

She joins him and takes it with a smile. “My favorite.”

“I know.”

They eat in silence for a while, and it’s not unlike the end of a day off-world except there’s no fire and her dress uniform is a lot less comfortable than her BDUs. “So,” she says after a while, licking tuna salad off her fingers, “what happened today, sir? Can you tell me?”

“Just something SG-5 brought back through the gate,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “You guys will see it in a couple of weeks, I guess. It started trying to rewrite all our computer code and we had to lock down the whole base before it managed to infect one of the external servers.”

Sam grimaces. “Wow, if it had gotten onto the web…”

“Exactly. Daniel lost a lot, though. It got into his computer first. He’s… well, you know Daniel. He’s politely pissed.”

She smiles at the image and reaches for a bag of potato chips. “Mind if I have the sour cream and onion?”

“Only if I get the chocolate chip muffin.”

“Deal,” she says and suddenly it feels like they’re swapping the content of their MREs and something is expanding in her chest, something warm and full of light. 

“So,” he says, leaning back in the chair and loosening his tie. “What was it you wanted to ask me this morning?”

It takes her a moment to remember – it feels like that was ages ago. “Oh,” she says eventually, “it was—” Actually it’s not something she really wants to talk about now, in case it spoils the mood. But he’s looking at her with those inscrutable eyes that seem to see right through her and she knows she can’t lie. So, to get it over with, she talks quickly. “It’s just that General Hammond used to make monthly visits to Groom Lake and you haven’t been…” She notices the frown, the way his eyes dip down to the paper napkin he’s suddenly folding and refolding. “I mean,” she hurries on, “I know how busy you’ve been, sir, but I just thought we could schedule—”

She’s interrupted by her phone ringing and suddenly remembers that she’d forgotten to call Pete back. “Damn,” she mutters, pulling out her cell. It’s him. She hesitates.

“Go ahead and take it,” the general says. “I don’t mind.”

“I won’t be a minute.” She puts the phone to her ear, turning away slightly. “Hey,” she says to Pete. “Sorry I didn’t call you back, I’m still in a meeting.”

“Still?” he says. “I thought your last meeting ended at six. I was worried when you didn’t call.”

“Why would you worry?” she says.

“Hey, I know DC. I have friends who work there, remember?”

She can’t help rolling her eyes a little and casting a glance at the general. He lifts his eyebrows in a _What?_ expression and she says, “Pete, I think I can handle the mean streets of Washington.”

The general’s eyebrows climb even higher, which makes Sam smile.

“I know you can, Sam. I just worry.” He sounds offended and her mood deflates. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” She focuses on a loose thread on her skirt, suddenly wishing the general wasn’t sitting right there listening. “It’s sweet that you’re worried, but you don’t need to. Really.”

Pete sighs down the line. “So you’re still in a meeting _now_?”

“Kind of,” she says. “We’re just getting something to eat.”

There’s a beat of silence. “We who?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you having dinner with?”

“I’m not having dinner—” She senses the general bristle, sitting back in his chair. Her cheeks flush hot. “I’ll have to call you back.”

“So you can’t tell me?”

“Pete, I’m in a meeting. I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Fine.” 

“Pete—”

But he’s hung up and Sam’s left listening to dead air. Awkwardly, she puts the phone down. “We got cut off,” she says with a smile, and she’s not sure why she’s lying about it.

The general looks uncomfortable, she can tell because he’s shutting everything down and just looking at her through guarded eyes that seem to take everything in and let nothing escape. “Everything okay?” 

She nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll call him later.”

There’s a silent moment when she thinks he’s going to press the point, ask more, but in the end he drops his eyes back to the table and reaches for the chocolate muffin. Without looking at her he says, “You’re right, I should have come out to Groom Lake sooner. I’ll ask Liu to schedule in a series of monthly visits.”

“That would be great,” she says, finding a smile despite her disquiet about Pete. “We’ve got a lot of exciting projects going on, and—”

Her phone bleeps again; the general looks up. 

It’s a text: _Sorry, hon. Bad day at work. I miss you._

She reads it, not sure how it makes her feel, and puts her phone away. “It’s hard on him,” she says. “Me being away so much.”

“Hard on you too.”

“Yeah, but…” She shrugs. “It’s my job that’s taking me away, my choice. I guess he feels like I’ve left him behind. And that’s hard.”

“Yeah,” the general agrees. “That’s hard.”

He says it with feeling and her heart kicks; he’s had more experience than most at being left behind. Suddenly she remembers how much it hurt when he was missing, how hard she fought to bring him home, and it seems impossible that, now that they’re both safe, both Earth-side, they haven’t spoken in almost two months. It’s wrong, this distance between them, it hangs like a shadow over everything. Something rises in her throat, a thick emotion that makes her turn away from him. It was all supposed to be easier after the wedding but she’s not sure it is. In fact, it seems to be getting harder.

“Carter?”

She closes her eyes, pushes the feelings away. “I’m fine, sir.”

“Listen,” he reaches out and touches her hand, a brief brush of his fingertips over her knuckles, and she’s shocked by the visceral jolt it gives her. “I haven’t been great at keeping in touch,” he admits, “but if you ever need anything you know you can call me, right?”

She laughs unsteadily. “Not when you change your number without telling me.”

His expression changes and he holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Mutely, she hands it over. He has no trouble finding her contacts and among them his own details. He cocks an eyebrow. “ _Colonel_ O’Neill?” he says. “Who’s he?”

She smiles. “Sorry, sir.”

He corrects his number and hands her back the phone. “There,” he says. “Now you can call.” When she glances down she realizes he’s changed his name too. Instead of ‘Colonel O’Neill’ it now reads ‘Jack O’Neill’.

She’s not sure what to make of that, so she decides it’s safer not to comment at all. 

Later, back in her hotel, she sits in bed and studies her phone. Pete sent three more texts before they spent an hour on the phone making up. She feels exhausted by it all and relishes the silence of her hotel room.

Now she sits and stares at the little screen, where it says ‘Jack O’Neill’, her finger poised to hit send. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with what she’s about to do, yet somehow it feels dangerous. But she’s antsy after her draining conversation with Pete, so maybe that’s why she does it anyway.

_Thanks for the office picnic. I’m glad we had a chance to catch up._

Less than a minute later her phone buzzes. _Drop in again before you leave. Bring cake._

She smiles and sends, _Chocolate?_

 _Or donuts_ , comes the reply.

 _Fruit is healthier_ , she counters.

 _Yet less cakier_.

She snorts a little. _Cakier isn’t a word._

_This isn’t scrabble._

She runs her finger over his words, then with a sigh sends, _Night sir._

A moment later, _Go to sleep, Carter._

She turns off the light, smiling into the darkness, and falls asleep with the phone still in her hand.

***

Drinks with Sam Carter is fun, and quickly turns into dinner. 

For someone so high-powered, Kerry finds Sam open and easy to talk to, with an apparently inexhaustible stock of wild stories about life at the SGC – all of which are told with the details filed off, as if she’s well-practiced in not talking about _exactly_ what she does.

Of course Kerry would love to ask her more about Jack, but he’s actually the one person she rarely mentions. It makes her curious about their working relationship, although Sam is so easy to get along with that she can’t believe they weren’t friends. 

When she’s talking about her life at Cheyenne Mountain she’s so full of life, so brimming with energy, that Kerry finds herself wondering why she ever left. So, always preferring to be direct, she asks the question. The effect it startling; it’s like someone switched off the lights.

“Oh,” she says, pushing her linguini around the plate with her fork, “lots of reasons, I guess. I couldn’t stay there forever. It felt like the right time to move on.” 

Kerry studies her. Observing people is part of her job and Sam Carter is telling her a lot just by sitting there prodding at her food. “I guess the hours are better,” Kerry suggests. “Now that you’re married.”

It’s a shot in the dark, but it hits the target. Sam stops moving completely for a moment, just long enough for Kerry to know she’s triggered something. “I guess,” she says, and then glances up with a curiously tentative expression for such a confident woman. “Pete thinks we should start a family,” she says, and it sounds a little bit like a confession. 

“Ah,” Kerry says, reaching for her glass of wine. “And is that something you want?”

“I guess,” she says. “I mean, I’m nearly forty.”

Kerry takes a sip of wine. “So it’s now or never?”

Abandoning her fork, Sam picks up her glass as well. “What about you?” she says. “Do you have children?”

Kerry shakes her head. “I’m not really the maternal type. But that’s just me. I’m not an evangelist for the child-free lifestyle.”

“No,” Sam says. “Me neither. I love kids. I’m just not sure...” She smiles, a flash of that enthusiasm back again, “Actually, I kind of have a daughter. Well, she’s not really mine. We share her.”

“Share her?”

“SG-1,” she elaborates. “We rescued Cassie about six years ago now and we’ve always looked out for her.” Here her face falls abruptly. “Her adopted mother, Janet Fraiser, died last year and since then we’ve kind of taken over as de facto parents.”

“You and the rest of SG-1?”

She nods. “The colonel and Cassie are pretty close, actually.”

“The colonel?”

She laughs, shakes her head with a self-conscious flush. “Slip of the tongue,” she says. “I mean General O’Neill. Sometimes he’s still ‘the colonel’ in my head.”

That’s interesting, Kerry thinks, and files it away in the back of her mind. Of more interest, however, is the fact that Jack has an almost adopted daughter that he’s never mentioned. “So her name’s Cassie?”

“Cassie Fraiser. She’s at MIT now. I don’t get to see as much of her as I’d like, but she’s a truly amazing girl to grow into such a beautiful person despite— Well, she’s lost two mothers in her life. And her whole people, in fact.” Sam gives a tight smile, but Kerry can see the emotion floating just beneath the surface.

“She’s lucky to have you guys.”

“We try,” she says, and after a moment adds, “So I guess, in a way, I almost feel like I have a daughter. I mean, I know it’s not the same, but me and Cass share a lot.”

“How does Pete get along with her?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, dropping her gaze back to her plate and picking up her fork again, “okay. He doesn’t know much about teenage girls, though.”

She laughs. “But General O’Neill does?”

Sam gives a little shrug. “I know he looks kinda gruff,” she says, “but he’s actually—” She stops and Kerry immediately spots it as self-censorship. Sam glances up and in a low voice says, “He had a son, Charlie. He died about ten years ago now, when he was only eight. So I guess the general has a soft spot for children. He’s good with them too. He doesn’t talk down to them, you know? Cass adores him.”

Kerry has to take a long swallow of wine to mask her shock. Jack had a son? But she guesses they’re keeping it casual, and how do you bring that subject up over dinner? She almost wishes she didn’t know, but it explains the shadows she sometimes sees in his eyes when he’s drifting and doesn’t know she’s watching. Loss like that will stay with you for a lifetime.

“Probably,” Sam says, “Pete and I should have talked more about having kids before we got married.”

“Probably,” Kerry agrees, shaking off thoughts of Jack. “It’s kind of a deal killer.”

Sam makes a face. “It was sort of a whirlwind courtship. We’d only been together seven months when he proposed and it just kind of...seemed inevitable from there.”

Kerry prides herself on her ability to read people, and while Sam Carter isn’t exactly an open book, she’s nowhere near as guarded as Jack O’Neill. “Seven months,” she says carefully. “You must have known Pete was ‘the one’ right from the start, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, taking a determined mouthful of food. “I’m not sure there’s such a thing as ‘the one’. I mean, think of all the billions of people on the planet and...” She makes a vague gesture skyward to include the entire galaxy. “How is it possible that there’s just _one_ person, among all those people, who’s some kind of soul mate? And even if there were, the odds of actually meeting them at all, let alone at the right moment, in the right circumstances, that would allow you to...” She trails off and stabs another piece of unoffending pasta. “I mean, the chances are infinitesimally small, when you think about it.”

All of which, Kerry easily concludes, points to the fact that Pete of the Big Shiny Ring is not ‘the one’. If she knew Sam better she might have pointed that out – at least, she might have pointed it out before the wedding. Too late now though, so she just says, “You know the difference between you and me?”

Sam looks up and Kerry can see that she’s working hard to ease off. “What?” she asks with a smile.

“I don’t think about the odds. I just live in hope.”

“Of finding true love?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Mostly I just hope to be happy and fulfilled. Being married to Mr. Wrong is no bed of roses, I can tell you. I’d much rather be single.”

A flicker of emotion crosses Sam’s face and if Kerry hadn’t been trained to notice microexpressions she might have missed it. But it was there, a flash of disquiet – not a good sign less than two months into a marriage. “How long were you married?” Sam asks, eyes down. Kerry wonders if she’s hiding from her, or from herself.

“Almost four years,” she answers. “Only about one of them was good. I should have gotten out sooner, but it just...” She laughs at herself. “Like I said, I usually live in hope, even when it’s hopeless.”

Sam smiles at that too, relaxes a little, and says, “So how about this new guy? Could he be ‘the one’?”

Kerry considers the question. She’s a little uncomfortable talking about Jack like this, because Sam knows him and it wouldn’t be right to give too much away without coming clean about the situation. “I really like him,” she says, “I’m enjoying what we have, but it’s not serious. He’s not looking for anything serious and neither am I. At least, not at the moment.”

“I envy you,” Sam says with more feeling than Kerry is expecting. “An uncomplicated relationship – I never seem to have those.”

Kerry laughs again. “You have to work at it, let me tell you. Keep the baggage well out of—”

Sam’s cell starts to buzz. She’d left it on the table, as if expecting a call, and when she glances down at the caller ID her mouth tightens. “Sorry,” she says, picking up the phone, “I have to take this.”

Kerry thinks it must be work until Sam says, “Pete? Hi.”

There’s a silence. Sam’s turned away and looking down at the floor as she listens. “Actually,” she says after a while, “I think you should just choose the one you like the best.”

Another silence and Sam takes a deep breath as if she’s looking for patience. “Of course I care about it, I just mean that you’re there and I trust your judgment.”

She glances at Kerry and rolls her eyes slightly. “Well then, can’t it wait until the weekend?” she says. There’s another long pause. “Actually, Pete, I can’t talk about this right now. I’m out with—” She breaks off suddenly, as if startled, and in a cold voice says, “Kerry Johnson, a colleague.” After a moment she she says, “So don’t do it tonight. I’ll help you this weekend. We can go to the store together. ” She nods. “I know. I know you do, I understand.” Half a smile. “Yeah, me too.” A glance at her watch. “Okay, but not too late. I have to be up early.”

When she hangs up she apologizes. “There was a minor crisis about what color to paint the bathroom.”

“Ah,” Kerry says. “Important decisions.”

“I told him ‘white’ but apparently there are about twenty different shades of white.”

Kerry laughs. “It must be hard to care about that stuff, doing what you do. It must seem so trivial.”

She shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt to have a little normalcy in your life. To balance out the crazy.”

And Kerry wonders if that’s what Pete is – the ballast to stabilize Sam’s highflying life. Or is he, as Kerry’s starting to suspect, the anchor that’s going to weigh Sam down until she’s forced to cut herself free? Just like Kerry had to do. She hopes she’s wrong, but she can’t help wonder.

She says as much to Jack, the next time she sees him – on Friday night, over take-out at her place. 

He stops with a fork full of Chinese food halfway to his mouth and says, “Excuse me?”

“I said I think Sam Carter might have married the wrong guy.”

The fork descends slowly back toward his plate and in a curiously controlled voice he says, “And who might the right guy be?”

Kerry shrugs. “I don’t know, just not Pete.”

Jack reaches for his beer, takes a long drink, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “And you know this how?”

“Just observing.” She gives him a wry smile. “CIA, remember? Highly trained.”

He frowns. “But when did you meet him? Was he in DC?”

“Who, Pete? I didn’t. I just mean from observing how Sam talks about him. Oh, and he called while we were having dinner.” She rolls her eyes at the memory. “Get this, he calls her at nine o’clock at night to talk about what shade of white to paint the bathroom! I mean, seriously?”

Jack smiles, but it’s a dark kind of smile. “He’s a jerk,” he says.

That saddens her, because Sam’s so great, and she’s surprised Jack finds it amusing. “Didn’t anyone try to talk her out of it?” she says. “I mean, her friends back at the SGC?”

“I think Daniel said something.” Jack’s suddenly fascinated by his meal, eyes downcast. He’s not lying, Kerry decides, but he’s definitely hiding something. 

“And?” she presses.

He shrugs. “And she told him she knew what she was doing, that she was happy, and that it was none of his business.”

“Huh,” Kerry says. “I wish I’d known her then, I’d have set her straight.”

Jack smiles. He has a lovely smile, boyish and charming. “I bet you would.”

She holds his gaze, feels herself heating in all the right places. He’s a very attractive man, there’s no denying it. Those dark eyes only accentuated by his greying hair, that kissable mouth, and all those turbulent depths lurking beneath the calm surface. She pushes her plate away, half finished. So does he. “I like Sam,” she says, leaning forward over the table so that he can kiss her. 

“Mmm,” he says against her lips. “Everyone likes Carter.”

“I think we can be friends.”

He doesn’t answer, concentrating instead on kissing. She doesn’t object, but she hasn’t got to the point yet. When he takes a breath she says, “I want to tell her about us.”

He stops, pulls back. 

“It feels wrong that she doesn’t know,” she says. “It feels deceitful.”

“Okay,” he says, surprising her. 

“Really?”

He shrugs. “You’re right. You should tell her, if you’re friends.”

She smiles and perhaps it’s because his kisses are so distracting that she doesn’t wonder why he hasn’t told her himself.

***

In the end they choose ‘Morning Light’ for the bathroom. It has a hint of blue, apparently, and Sam’s halfway through the second coat when the doorbell rings.

It’s Daniel, and he looks almost apologetic as he pokes his head into her bathroom with Pete hovering at his shoulder. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says. “Just thought I’d stop by on the off-chance you were home.”

She’s delighted to see him, it’s been too long. “Daniel!” She grins at him from the top of the ladder. “Stay for lunch. We were about to stop.”

“Oh,” he says, with a glance at Pete, “I don’t want to intrude. I know you guys don’t get a lot of time together.”

“You’re not intruding,” she says as she climbs down the ladder. “Right, Pete?”

“Of course not,” Pete says. “Any friend of Sam’s… Oh, and we can show him the honeymoon photos.”

Sam tries not to grimace, doesn’t meet Daniel’s eye. 

“Great!” Daniel says gamely. “I love photos.”

While Pete starts making lunch, Sam says, “There are about a hundred thousand of them, mostly sunsets. I won’t be offended if you have to leave suddenly.”

Daniel just smiles and says, “Want a hand finishing up?”

“You’ll get paint on your clothes.”

“I’ll get to talk to you,” he counters.

She loves Daniel, she thinks to herself. She’s missed him. “Thanks for coming,” she says and hands him a paintbrush.

They work in silence for a while, until Daniel says, “I saw Teal’c yesterday. Things are going well on Dakara.”

“I miss Teal’c,” she says, stretching up to get the corner between the ceiling and the wall. “How is he?”

“Good. Happy, I think. You know, in a Teal’c way.”

She smiles. “I’d love to have him over – have everyone over. Like before.”

Daniel’s silent again. “It’s different now, I guess,” he says at last. “It’s not like before.”

“I know,” she sighs. “With General O’Neill in Washington, and Teal’c off-world.”

“Well,” he says, “it’s really because you’re married.”

Startled, she turns to face him, making the ladder wobble. “What? That doesn’t change anything.”

He laughs and glances over at her. When he sees her face his laughter falls away, as if he’s surprised she wasn’t joking. “Sam,” he says, with a note of disbelief, “you know what I—” He frowns, looks at the door, and in a lower voice says, “You know what I mean, and you know why it makes things different.”

Her mouth feels dry and her heart is unaccountably racing. She can almost see something from the corner of her eye but she doesn’t want to look at it and shies away. “No,” she says, “I don’t know. How does it affect us?”

“Well not _us_ ,” he says, gesturing between the two of them. “That’s not what I meant.”

She turns back to the wall, dips her paintbrush in the can. “Then what did you mean?” Behind her she can sense that Daniel’s gone very still; in the kitchen Pete has switched the radio to some god-awful country station he likes. The music seems to drill into her head.

“Sam?” Daniel says quietly and with enough command in his voice that she’s forced to turn back around. He’s looking at her with so much pathos in his mild eyes that she feels her throat tighten. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “None of us do. But—”

Blame her? “What are you talking about?” 

He frowns, runs a hand through his hair. The paintbrush is dripping onto the plastic-covered floor. “I thought— Sam, you do know why Jack left, don’t you? Why he took the job in DC?” It must be obvious from her face that she doesn’t because he says, “Oh, God, really? You didn’t know? I thought he told you.”

She licks her dry lips and in a whisper says, “Told me what?”

Daniel looks awkward, sets the dripping brush back in the can. It sinks up to the base of the handle; Pete will be cross, Sam thinks distractedly, he always lays the brushes across the top of the can. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Told me _what_ , Daniel?” Her fingers are white knuckling the top of the ladder. She wants to shake the words out of him.

He takes a breath, glances again at the bathroom door, and quietly says, “How he feels about you. You know, beyond your professional relationship.”

Feels? Present tense. “That’s not—” She tries to swallow. “Daniel, that was a long time ago.”

His eyebrows contract into a frown. “No, you’re wrong.”

Suddenly, all she can remember is his arms around her and that hot kiss against her neck; her head is spinning, her stomach clenched in a kind of sick horror.

“Sam,” Daniel says and takes a step toward her but she doesn’t move from her place on the ladder. She can’t. “He said you knew.”

“He said...?” She’s starting to feel sick now, genuinely sick. “He told you that?”

Daniel’s face is a picture of concern. “Sam,” he says, “please get off the ladder.” 

She does, moving on wobbly legs. It feels like the world is spinning on the wrong axis and she can’t catch her balance. She can’t think it all through. _He thought I knew how he felt?_ “I don’t understand,” she says, reaching for Daniel’s hand just as Pete pokes his head around the door. “What did he—”

“Hey!” Pete says, his gaze immediately drawn to where Daniel is holding her hand. “Lunch is ready. I just made sandwiches and hooked up the camera to the TV so we can look at the honeymoon pictures while we eat.”

“Great,” Daniel says, squeezing her fingers and then letting go. “I’m starving.”

Sam washes paint from her hands numbly, trying not to think about what Daniel’s told her. She doesn’t want to follow it to the logical conclusion. She can’t, she just can’t possibly go there.

And yet, at the same time, she wants to know everything.

What did he tell Daniel? When? And why the hell didn’t he tell _her_?

She eats mechanically, barely tasting the food. On the screen, images from their honeymoon flick past one by one: sunset, beach, pool, sunset, Sam self-conscious in a bikini. Why did she even buy that? Her and Pete kissing, posing in front of yet another sunset from the deck of the same damn boat. 

Lunch sits like a stone in her belly, her eyes glazing over as Pete talks on and on about the great food and the all-you-can-eat buffet and the entertainment and the dancing. Her eyes stray to Daniel; she sees that he’s both bored and concerned. His attention darts to her from time to time and she can see that he’s as desperate to talk to her, to explain, as she is to hear what he has to say.

“Sam?” Pete laughs in the bright, hard way she’s come to recognize as irritation. “Don’t bowl us over with your enthusiasm or anything!”

She shakes herself, sees Daniel looking awkward. 

“Sorry,” she says. “It was great, the buffet...” Suddenly she can’t do it anymore, can’t lie. “Actually, I’m not feeling well,” she says, getting to her feet.

Daniel follows her with his eyes, full of anxious regret. “Sam...”

“I need to lie down,” she says. “Sorry, Daniel, I’ll call you later.”

Pete’s on his feet. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Just a headache. I just need some quiet. I’m sorry.”

And then she’s gone, into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She pulls shut the drapes, blocks out as much daylight as possible, and lays down flat on her back and closes her eyes. 

It can’t be true, what Daniel said. The general can’t still have those feelings for her. It’s been years since they’ve acknowledged anything. _Years_.

And if he had, if he’d still felt something, why didn’t he tell her? It’s not like she hadn’t tried to talk to him – before the Battle of Antarctica, before she agreed to wear Pete’s ring. Nothing. He’d said _nothing_. Daniel had to be wrong. 

Outside she can hear him leaving, the measured tone of his voice and Pete’s eager friendliness. The front door opens and closes.

Not long after, she hears the bedroom door open and she shuts her eyes again, feigning sleep. Pete watches her for a moment, then leaves.

When she can hear him back in the kitchen, she rolls over and pulls her cell from her pocket. She always keeps it on her these days. There’s an unread message on the screen and her heart thumps when she sees who it’s from: Jack O’Neill.

 _You missed a spot_ , it says, because she’d told him she was painting this morning.

She smiles, but it hurts and twists abruptly into tears. She jams her hand over her mouth to keep from making a noise and for a moment just screws up her eyes and tries to keep from screaming. 

_Do you still love me?_ she wants to text back. _Do you still want me? TELL ME._

But what would be the point? Her husband – her _husband_ – is in the other room. And there are lines you don’t cross. 

As the scream recedes she takes a shaky breath and picks up her phone.

 _I need to talk to you_ , she writes and sends it to Daniel.

A moment later he replies. _I’ll be home all evening._

The door opens and Pete appears again, holding a steaming mug. “Hey,” he says, “I made you some chamomile tea. It’s supposed to be good for headaches.”

“Thanks.” Guilty, confused, she sits up and finds tears leaking from her eyes. She tries to dash them away. 

“Sam…” Pete’s all concern, coming to sit on the bed next to her. “What’s the matter? I knew you didn’t just have a headache. What is it, hon? Did Daniel say something?”

She just shakes her head and leans into him, letting him hold her and feeling wretched with shame. 

_What have I done? What am I doing?_ The questions circle like crows. _What am I going to do now?_

But she has no answer to any of them.

***

Sam doesn’t reply to his text, but Daniel’s not surprised when his buzzer sounds at half past ten that night. He presses the intercom. “Sam?”

There’s a pause, then, “Can I come up?”

He doesn’t answer the stupid question, just buzzes her in. A couple of minutes later she’s standing in his hallway, dressed for the gym, looking haunted. 

“I can’t stay long,” she says.

“Okay.” He waves her into his living room. “Let’s sit down.”

She nods, perches on the edge of his sofa. Her fingers pick at the fraying cuffs of her sweatshirt. “Daniel,” she says, staring at the floor between them, “what did you mean about the reason General O’Neill took the job in DC?”

Daniel watches her for a moment from the chair opposite and wonders if this is his fault, if he’s broken something by talking about things that had always been hidden. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean to upset you or...make things hard.”

She looks up, her large eyes brim-full of emotion. “Daniel, please.”

“I assumed you knew,” he says. “Jack told me you knew how he felt.”

She closes her eyes, shakes her head slightly. She looks like it’s a struggle to hold on. “Is that why he left?”

“Sam...”

“Daniel,” she says, sounding desperate. “I have to know. Was that—was it me? Did he leave because of me?”

Her eyes have him skewered to the spot, there’s no escaping. “Not because of you _per se_ ,” he says. “He’s happy for you, Sam. He just needed to move on. For his own good, you know?”

“Move on?” she says, confused.

Sometimes, for a galactic genius, Sam Carter was surprisingly slow. “He needs to get over you,” he explains. “Get over his feelings for you.”

Her head dips, her hands covering her face. 

“Sam, it’s not your fault,” he says. “People’s feelings change, Jack knows that and he doesn’t blame you for falling in love with Pete. It’s just that he finds being around you – married you – difficult. That’s why things are different. It’s just one of those things.”

She shakes her head and looks up. “He never said anything.”

“When?”

“Before the wedding!” she exclaims, as if he’s stupid.

And maybe he is, maybe he’s completely stupid not to have figured this out before. “Sam,” he says slowly, “are you saying it would have made a difference if you’d known?”

She stares at him as if shocked by her own admission, by what it seems to imply about her relationship with Pete Shanahan. She gets up suddenly. “No,” she says. “No, that’s not—I have to go.”

“Sam, wait.”

“I can’t. I’m already late. I have to go.” 

“Sam!” he grabs her arm, stops her. Her muscles are taut and hard under his fingers, her whole body resisting. “This is none of my business,” he says, “but just – For once in your life, Sam, do what makes you happy and not what you think is right.”

She pulls her arm from his hand. “What makes you think they’re different things?”

And then she’s gone, slamming the door behind her, and Daniel’s left listening to the silence of his apartment and wondering what the hell he’s just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think of it so far. Chapter three: Altered Reality will be posted tomorrow! :)


	3. Altered Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s an expression on her face that unnerves him – it’s angry and full of challenge, yet somewhere beneath the flash-fire in her eyes there’s something breathlessly audacious. It’s the kind of expression she gets when she’s about to detonate a sun.

It’s two weeks after Carter visited DC that Jack makes his first trip to Groom Lake as Head of Homeworld Security. It’s a little weird that Kerry is with him, but it makes sense for her to come because security is always a huge issue at Groom Lake – harder to lock down than the SGC, harder to control access, and way too many staff – and he’s not about to allow his personal feelings to interfere with business.

But still, it makes him uneasy. He doesn’t think Kerry’s told Carter about their relationship yet, for which he’s grateful. He’s not sure whether he’s expecting Carter to be upset or indifferent and he’s not sure which response would trouble him most. Really, he just doesn’t want to witness the moment she finds out because he’s not sure he’d be able to hide his feelings from either of them. And Kerry, in particular, is an astute observer of people. 

He sighs and she glances at him from her seat next to the window. “What?”

He shakes his head. “I hate flying.”

She rolls her eyes at the obfuscation, but doesn’t press. He likes that about her – she allows him his privacy.

They land on base in the early June sunshine, heat shimmering on the runway. Jack can feel it through the skin of the plane before the doors open and it hits like a hammer when he walks down the steps. It reminds him of the momentary dislocation you feel stepping through the Stargate from the cool of the SGC to some other, strange world full of new sounds and sensations.

Not that Nevada is another planet but it would be difficult to find somewhere less like Washington.

Carter and her senior staff are waiting for them and he’s glad it’s so bright, that he has an excuse to wear sunglasses to hide the jolt of pleasure he feels at seeing her face. She offers him a sharp salute, her eyes also hiding behind dark glass. “General O’Neill, welcome to Groom Lake, sir. Agent Johnson, good to see you.”

He returns the salute and resists the desire to smile. “Good to be here, Colonel.” 

Inside, out of the heat, they’re given the grand tour before a late lunch. Carter’s proud of her team, proud that this is her bailiwick, and Jack’s proud of her. It’s obvious that she’s liked and respected by both the military and civilian personnel and she’s in her element when she’s explaining the possibilities of a dozen different projects. He does her the courtesy of not playing dumb – he’s gotten out of the habit in DC anyway – and is alarmingly fascinated by how well Carter and Kerry seem to be getting on. In fact, when he thinks about it, he notices that Carter is actually talking more to Kerry than she is to him.

He tries not to be offended, or afraid.

They eat lunch in the canteen alongside the rest of the personnel. Carter knows him well enough not to organize anything special – he hates all that stuff – but he notices that she sits as far away from him as possible and he starts to wonder what the hell is going on. Nothing is accidental where Carter and he are concerned.

As they’re leaving, heading for a long afternoon meeting with her security staff, he deploys a little strategic maneuver and holds her back at the table while he pretends to have lost his sunglasses. 

“So, what’s up, Colonel?” he says when they’re alone enough in the noisy canteen.

“Sir?” she says, eyes fixed on the retreating backs of her staff.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says and she jumps at the accusation, looking at him in surprise. Probably, he thinks, it’s not the sort of thing Colonel O’Neill would have said to Major Carter. But things are different now. The obvious reason notwithstanding, she’s also in command of R&D at this enormous facility and the relative gap between their ranks and experience has narrowed considerably. He figures he can take some liberties. “What did I do?”

She looks embarrassed and he’s expecting her to laugh it off, or smile, or roll her eyes. Instead she gives him a very serious look and says, “Actually, it’s what you didn’t do.”

Now he’s the one taken aback, glancing around them and hoping no one is listening. This is not the place to be having this conversation – whatever this conversation is. “What are you talking about?” he says quietly.

She shakes her head, mouth firmly shut. Denial: he knows that expression all too well. 

“Carter—”

“General, we’ll be late,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Maybe we can pick this up later?”

“Later?”

There’s an expression on her face that unnerves him – it’s angry and full of challenge, yet somewhere beneath the flash-fire in her eyes there’s something breathlessly audacious. It’s the kind of expression she gets when she’s about to detonate a sun. 

He’s not sure whether to be wary or excited about what ‘later’ might bring.

***

Sam’s wired, her mind and body fuelled by little more than caffeine and adrenaline.

She hasn’t slept a whole night through since Daniel dropped his bombshell, her mind chasing itself in pointless loops of uncertainty, and she’s jittery as the meeting draws to an end. She’s felt the general’s eyes on her all afternoon, covert glances when he thinks no one’s looking, and in light of Daniel’s revelations it’s been making her skin burn – just the way it used to.

But at least she’s decided what to do: she has to confront him. She has to know if Daniel’s right about why he left the SGC, about what he feels about her, and the only way to find out for certain is to ask him point blank. And here – away from DC and away from Colorado Springs – is the best place to do it. She’s on her home turf and she can call the shots. 

Her plan is simple: stop by his quarters later, before everyone heads out to dinner in town, and ask him if he still has feelings for her. It won’t take long, she thinks. It’s a simple question, after all. Relatively simple. What she’ll do with the answer she isn’t sure, but she figures she’ll deal with that as it happens.

But the best-laid plans of mice and colonels often go awry, and it’s because she’s so wired, because she ends up standing in the corridor outside her office, dithering about whether to change out of her uniform before she goes to confront him, that Kerry catches her unawares.

“Hey Sam,” she says with a bright smile. “You got a minute?”

She likes Kerry, and doesn’t want to be rude, so she says, “Um, sure, what do you need?”

“Quick coffee and a chat?” Sam notices that her smile is brighter than usual, that there’s a muted excitement in her eyes. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Oh?” She’s curious despite the nervous tension fluting through her body. “I guess I’ve got twenty minutes.” He’ll still be there in twenty minutes; she just won’t change out of her uniform first. Better to be in uniform anyway, all things considered. 

They head back down to the cafeteria, which is quieter now, and Kerry chooses a table right in the far corner, about as isolated as possible. Sam’s curiosity is piqued. “Looks like this is going to be juicy,” she says as they sit down. She takes a sip of coffee and represses a grimace. More caffeine is the last thing she needs. 

Kerry laughs, oblivious, and to Sam’s surprise she blushes, girlish all of a sudden. “Well, not _that_ interesting,” she says. “It’s just—” She clears her throat, wraps her fingers around her mug, and laughs again. “God, this is silly, it’s just that you’re the first person I’ve told.”

Sam feels her eyes go wide. “You’re not engaged, are you?”

“No!” Her laugh is almost alarmed. “No, definitely not. No, it’s just—well, actually it _is_ about the guy I’m seeing.”

“Okay...” She wonders if Kerry is pregnant and notes her own lack of accompanying envy, which somehow makes her think guiltily of Pete.

“Well, as you know, we’re keeping it light and haven’t told anyone at work yet,” Kerry says. “But,” she looks at Sam and smiles again, “the thing is, I want to tell you who he is because you know him, and I didn’t want to keep you in the dark about it, so Jack agreed that we could...”

Kerry’s still speaking but there’s a kind of white noise in Sam’s ears that means she can’t process the words. Jack? _Jack agreed_? Not _her_ Jack. She couldn’t mean General O’Neill.

“...and so we’ve been dating for a few months now, since shortly before he transferred to DC.” She smiles and sips her coffee, eyes down. “I don’t think I’m the reason he transferred but it has made things easier.”

Sam realizes she’s staring when Kerry says, “Sam?”

“Sorry,” she says and coughs because her throat and mouth have suddenly gone dry. “I was just—wow. General O’Neill?”

“I know,” Kerry smiles. “But honestly, under all that military bravado, he’s a really sweet guy. Funny too. But I guess—I mean, you worked with him for years, so you know what he’s like.”

“Yes, “Sam says, “I know what he’s—” She has to clear her throat again because the words are getting stuck behind the shock constricting her airway. She tries to sip her coffee but her hands are shaking so hard she has to put the cup back down. “Hah,” she laughs, afraid she sounds wild, “way too much caffeine today!”

Kerry watches her for a moment and then says, “So, anyway, I just wanted to tell you since we’re all here and it would be weird if you didn’t know – full disclosure, and all that.” Her expression turns curious. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No, of course not.”

“It’s just you seem a little...”

“I’m fine.” She fixes a smile onto her face and it feels like she’s wearing a mask, like she’s having to arrange her features into the correct position without a mirror and with no way of knowing whether she got it right. “I just—I had no idea.” She tries to gather her scattered thoughts. “Um, so you’ve been…you met at the SGC?”

Kerry nods. “You can see why he wanted to keep it quiet. Not that there’s a conflict of interest, but…well, you know how important it is to keep things professional in the workplace.” She pauses, frowns slightly. “I hope you’re not upset with me, Sam. Maybe I should have said something sooner?”

“No.” She likes Kerry, she wants to do the right thing, say the right thing. It’s just that she feels like something detonated at the base of her skull and she can’t even begin to know how she feels. She’s in too many pieces. “I’m surprised, that’s all,” she says, proud of the way it sounds relatively normal. “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

Kerry frowns into her coffee. “Can I be honest with you?”

 _Please don’t_ , she thinks, but out loud she can only say, “Of course.”

“Jack doesn’t talk about it much,” she says, lowering her voice, “but he was hurt pretty badly recently. I think it made him feel vulnerable, and so he just wanted to keep this between us. Does that make sense?”

Sam can only nod. The idea that he felt hurt – that she hurt him – is so painful that she can’t quite breathe around it, because it confirms everything that Daniel told her about why the general left Stargate Command. 

“Okay, I’ll let you go,” Kerry says, getting to her feet. She cocks her head and looks at Sam, “I’m sorry if this is awkward somehow. I know how important team bonds are in military units.”

“It’s not awkward,” Sam says hurriedly, willing it to be true. “It’s fine. I think you make a great couple.”

Kerry smiles cautiously. “We’re heading into town for dinner,” she says. “If you want to join us?”

“Oh.” God no! “Actually, I can’t. I have to work and I need to call Pete.”

“Okay,” Kerry says, and Sam can hear genuine disappointment in her voice.

Trying to make amends, to show how fine she is about it all, she says, “But, hey, I can totally recommend Trudy’s. I know the general likes a steak. And the desserts are to die for.”

“Ah yes,” Kerry smiles, “the infamous O’Neill sweet tooth.”

Sam’s heart kicks against her chest, a sharp pang that feels like heartbreak. “Tell him the pie is good.”

Later, close to midnight, when she’s lying in bed and staring up as the lights of passing cars sweep across the ceiling, the phone in her hand buzzes. 

_What happened to ‘later’?_

He’s moved on, that’s what she’s telling herself. He’s moved on and that’s a good thing. Kerry is great: smart, beautiful, personable. She can see why he likes her – _loves_ her, perhaps. The thought makes her stomach drop. It’s dropped so often tonight that she wonders how much further it can fall. She wonders if this is how he felt when she was dating Pete, smiling to herself in the corridors of the SGC, planning the wedding; the thought brings tears to her eyes.

Her phone buzzes again, the same text demanding she open it: _What happened to ‘later’?_

She hits reply. _Bad timing._

And that’s only the half of it.

***

09/06/2005 07:54

From: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

To: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

Subject: Thanks

Carter,

Just wanted to say thanks for the tour yesterday. Very interesting, lots of great work going on. Please pass on my thanks to everyone for their time, etc. 

Jack  
_____________________  
Major General Jack O’Neill  
Head of Homeworld Security

 

09/06/2005 04:58

From: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

To: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

Subject: Re: Thanks

General O’Neill,

I’m glad you found the tour interesting. We look forward to seeing you on your next visit.

Carter  
_____________________________  
Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter  
Head of Research and Development

 

09/06/2005 08:03

From: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

To: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

Subject: Re:Thanks

Carter, tell me you’re not at work at 04:58 AM???

Jack  
______________________  
Major General Jack O’Neill  
Head of Homeworld Security

 

09/06/2005 05:05

From: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

To: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

Subject: Re: Thanks

Couldn’t sleep, just checking email before I get up.

Carter  
_____________________________  
Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter  
Head of Research and Development

 

09/06/2005 08:08

From: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

To: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

Subject: Re:Thanks

I guess some things don’t change.

By the way, Trudy’s was great. Thanks for the recommendation. Excellent pie.

Jack  
______________________  
Major General Jack O’Neill  
Head of Homeworld Security

 

09/06/2005 05:11

From: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

To: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

Subject: Re: Thanks

You’re welcome. I hope Agent Johnson enjoyed it too…

Carter  
_____________________________  
Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter  
Head of Research and Development

 

09/06/2005 08:12

From: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

To: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

Subject: Re: Thanks

Everyone did.  
_____________________  
Major General Jack O’Neill  
Head of Homeworld Security

 

Sam doesn’t reply, lets his last comment hover in the back of her mind. He’s clearly irritated and she can’t tell if the uncomfortable feeling she carries around with her all day is righteous indignation or self-reproach. Alluding to his personal relationship with Kerry in an official email wasn’t the most politick thing she’s ever done, so maybe she deserved that curt reply. After all, she knows better than anyone how important it is to keep these things beneath the surface. It’s ironic, really, that she has to be careful about exposing his feelings for someone else.

It’s late when she reads it again and she knows better than to send emails late at night, when she’s tired and more emotional than rational. But maybe that’s why she waits until she’s about to go to bed before she replies. Maybe she wants to say more than she should and the lateness of the hour, the way her head feels slightly fuzzy, gives her an excuse. 

 

10/06/2005 22:28

From: samantha.carter@groomlake.af.mil

To: jack.oneill@pentagon.af.mil

Subject: Re: Thanks

I wasn’t being pointed. I think it’s great, I just wish you’d told me yourself.  
_____________________________  
Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter  
Head of Research and Development

 

She’s not expecting a reply – it’s the middle of the night in DC – but she shuts down her laptop right away, just in case, turns off the light and climbs into bed. Truth is, she _was_ being pointed and he probably had a right to be irritated that she mentioned Kerry. A lot more right than she has to feel...what? Jealous? Abandoned? Lost? All those emotions she thought she was protecting herself against when she chose to walk away from her tangled feelings for General O’Neill and to embrace a simpler life.

So how is it that the fact he’s done the same can hurt like this? It occurs to her then that it’s easier to walk away from a person than from the way they make you feel.

On the nightstand, her phone suddenly buzzes. It’s a text and she knows it’s from him and hates how her heart leaps into her throat with a heady mix of dread and hope. Ignoring it is impossible so she grabs the phone and fumbles it open. His answer to her email is simple:

_Why?_

She stares at that word for half an hour because there’s no honest way to answer his question that won’t undermine the lie she’s been telling herself every day for the past two years. 

When the clock on her phone shows 23:00 she turns it off, puts it on her nightstand, and closes her eyes. 

But sleep doesn’t come; she doesn’t expect it to. His question, unanswered, haunts her for the rest of the night.

***

The first inkling Daniel has that Sam’s on base is when he sees her Volvo in the parking lot, in the exact same spot she always parked and looking as immaculate as ever.

He figures either the world is on the brink of some new and terrible disaster or Jacob Carter has come to town.

Turns out, it’s the latter.

He’s not surprised, but is a little hurt, that Sam didn’t tell him she was coming. But she hasn’t really spoken to him since the night she came to his apartment and he’s not sure if it’s because she’s angry or embarrassed. Of them all, Sam’s always been the most closed off when it comes to her personal feelings – especially where Jack is concerned.

She’s taken possession of her old lab. With the personnel at the SGC being drawn down now that the war appears to be over, it hasn’t been appropriated by anyone else and when he walks past and sees the lights on he gets a sweet pang of nostalgia. It’s not that he misses fighting the Goa’uld or the Replicators, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss SG-1 and how they were, back in the day.

He pokes his head around the door but Sam’s not there, so he scrawls a note on a post-it and leaves it on her laptop before he heads down to his lab.

She comes to find him with coffee and muffins – a peace offering – at eleven o’clock and looks sheepish and awkward. 

“Hey,” he says, offering a smile. “I saw your car up top.”

“It needed a run,” she says. “It’s been sitting in my garage for months.”

“Really? I thought you’d be racing it over the salt flats,” he says, lifting an eyebrow as he accepts the coffee with a nod of thanks.

“That’s a thought,” she says, and from the look in her eye he’s not sure she’s kidding. “I could at least ship the bike out there, maybe.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “So, what brings you back here? Not that it isn’t nice to see you.”

“Dad,” she says with an affectionate eye-roll. “I figured they can live without me at Groom Lake for a week so I can catch up with Dad and telecommute from the SGC. It’s nice to have a whole week in my own bed for once.”

“I bet,” he says, and because it’s looming between them he forces himself to add, “How’s Pete?”

Sam’s expression tightens but she holds his gaze and says, “Good. We’re all moved in to the new house now, so everything’s settling down. It’s nice.”

He believes her. That is, he doesn’t think she’s lying – at least, not to him. “It’s a great house,” he offers. “Very...substantial.”

It’s obviously a family home and he guesses they’re planning on kids, but he doesn’t ask, under the circumstances. 

“Daniel?” she says, after a moment of silence. “About what happened the other week...”

He nods and looks at her over the tops of his glasses. “What _did_ happen, Sam?” 

“I don’t know what the general said to you before he left,” she says, toying nervously with her coffee, “but I found out recently that he’s seeing someone. In fact,” she says, and sounds almost triumphant, like she’s proving a point, “he’s been seeing her since before he left the SGC.”

Okay, so he’s surprised. “Who is she?” 

“Kerry Johnson.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell and he shakes his head.

“She was the CIA attaché for a while?”

He still can’t remember, but that’s not really the point. “He was seeing her before he left?” he says, because Jack had said nothing at all about that. _Quelle surprise_.

Sam nods and sips her coffee. “She’s very nice. Funny, smart. Attractive.”

“Sounds like Jack’s type,” Daniel agrees and tries not to lay the irony on too thick.

If she gets it, Sam’s not choosing to comment. “So I think,” she says, “that you shouldn’t say anything to him about the other night.”

“It’s none of my business anyway,” he says, although he can’t help feeling that it is, at least a little bit. They’re both his friends, after all, and isn’t their wellbeing his business?

“No, but that doesn’t usually stop you from butting in.”

“Hey!” he objects, but there’s enough of a smile in her eyes to tell him she’s at least half joking. 

She touches his arm, just above his wrist. “I miss you, Daniel,” she says. “We should do better at staying in touch.”

By ‘we’ he thinks, she means herself. “You have my email,” he says, “and I’m pretty much chained to my PC these days, so...”

“We should go out while I’m here. You, me and Dad. And Pete.”

“Sounds good,” he says, although in fact it sounds kind of excruciating. He wonders if he can contact Teal’c and bribe him to come along for moral support. But then he feels mean, because he misses Sam too, and if this is how it is then this is how it is. But he can’t help adding, “One day, maybe you and I could do something? Just us. Reminisce over the good old days?”

Her smile is brilliant and he remembers how lovely it is and how long it’s been since he saw her smile like that. “Count me in,” she says.

He wants to ask her if she’s happy, but doesn’t feel like this is the right time. He will ask, though, because he doubts that she is and he’s not sure she even realizes it.

And someone, he figures, has to tell her.

***

Jacob arrives that evening and Daniel can sense a subtle shift in him since the blending with the new symbiote. He wonders what that’s like, having gotten used to sharing your body with one mind and then having to learn to accommodate one entirely different. He’d like to ask, but it’s not something Jacob’s ever been comfortable talking about. Daniel can see where Sam gets her emotional reserve.

He watches from the control room as father and daughter share a hug, and there’s a bounce in Sam’s step as she accompanies Jacob out of the gate room.

Daniel meets Jacob half an hour later in the conference room for a briefing and he’s surprised by his serious expression as they shake hands. 

“Trouble,” Jacob says, by way of explanation. “Between the Free Jaffa and the Tok’ra.”

“Ah.” Daniel’s not exactly surprised. The fine distinction between Tok’ra and Goa’uld is lost on most Jaffa. 

“I think,” Jacob says, addressing General Landry, “that it might be useful to bring Jack into the loop – there’re some issues for the Alpha Site.”

Landry, still finding his feet, is only too pleased. “I’ll call him myself and see if he can spare some time for a briefing tomorrow.” He smiles at them. “He’ll probably welcome the excuse to leave DC for a while.”

Daniel’s pleased too. Intergalactic political tensions aside, he hasn’t seen Jack since he decamped to Washington and he’s missed him. If he has another motive – one involving getting his two friends in a room together – he keeps it to himself. At the very least he can find out what, exactly, Kerry Johnson means to him, because in all the years he’s known him, Jack’s never once mentioned dating.

Sam’s not in the room, of course – SGC business is no longer her business – but she’s waiting in the control room when they head back down.

“Sam,” Jacob says, pulling her attention from the screen she’s studying. “Ready to go?”

She smiles that smile Daniel’s missed and says, “Sure, Dad, I’m starving.” To Daniel, she says, “Why don’t you come over too? Pete’s cooking.”

“Oh, this is family time,” Daniel hedges. “Jacob just got here.”

“He’s right,” Jacob says quickly. “But why don’t you come over tomorrow night?” And there’s a glint of something in his eyes that Daniel can’t interpret when he adds, “Then you can bring Jack along too.”

Sam freezes, her smile fixing. “General O’Neill?”

“Who else?” Jacob says. “You guys are still talking, right? Now he’s the big boss, I mean.”

She gives him a suddenly deadly look. “Of course.”

“Great! Well, we’ll see you then, Daniel.”

He’s not exactly sure what just happened, and by the look on Sam’s face neither is she. But he smiles to himself on the way back to his lab; he suspects he might have an ally in Jacob Carter.

***

Sam wakes up early, not sure whether she’s looking forward to the day ahead or dreading it. As always where General O’Neill is concerned, her feelings are complicated and difficult to untangle. But whether it’s dread or anticipation, she can’t deny the sparkle of energy that tugs her out of bed and into the bathroom before it’s fully light.

As the water runs through her hair and over her face she realizes she’s humming but offers herself no explanation for the fact that it’s the theme tune from _The Simpsons_.

Pete was still sleeping when she got up but by the time she’s out of the shower their bed is empty and she can hear him banging around in the kitchen and can smell bacon sizzling in the pan. They’re nice, she thinks, these mornings together. It makes her consider what she’s sacrificed taking the job at Groom Lake. She likes having someone to share breakfast with, to kiss her goodbye and care how her day’s going to be. She realizes that she likes living with someone more than she likes living alone.

She’d never really realized she was lonely.

Leaving her hair to dry naturally – no reason to make any particular effort with her appearance today – she dresses in BDUs in deference to the SGC and wanders out to the kitchen. Pete is making the most of her week in town and he’s laid out breakfast on the table, complete with flowers and silverware. It’s very sweet, she thinks, and she kisses him good morning to show him she’s grateful. He likes when she does that and grins broadly.

Her dad’s already eating and waves a fork in greeting as she sits down. “Kamarl loves bacon,” he says out of the blue.

Pete laughs. “I’ll never get used to that.” 

Sam helps herself to granola and fruit while Pete pours coffee. “I could get used to _this_ ,” she teases.

“Good,” he says. “It’s part of my plan to lure you back to the Springs.”

Her dad glances at her across the table, but she’s not sure what his look means. “We should eat out tonight,” she says to him. “With Daniel and General O’Neill.”

“We can’t talk if we’re in public,” her dad points out. 

“Take out?” Pete suggests. “I could pick up some beers and Chinese on the way home.”

“Perfect,” Sam says. “Everyone likes Chinese.”

By ‘everyone’ she means Daniel and the general. Chinese was always their go-to choice on team nights at her place. She has fond memories of them all sitting around her small living room eating straight out of the carton. She misses that; she misses them. 

“Sam?” Pete says. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” she says. “Just thinking.”

“I’ll go get ready,” her father says, getting up suddenly. “Thanks, Pete. Good breakfast.”

“You’re welcome, Dad,” he says.

Sam glances up but her father doesn’t comment, although he does catch her eye for a fraction of a second. She wonders if he’s remembering the ironic way Colonel O’Neill sometimes called him Dad. Looking back, she wonders what on earth he’d been thinking. 

As soon as they’re on their own, Pete pulls her into his arms. “You look beautiful this morning,” he says.

She laughs. “Even in my BDUs?”

“You’re beautiful in anything,” he says. Then, closer to her ear, “And nothing.”

She bats him away with a grin, but not before he can lean in again and kiss her. Like everything he does, Pete kisses her with a kind of puppyish devotion, as if he can’t believe his luck that she’s there. It’s endearing, if a little daunting, being this important to someone. But it makes her feel like she must be doing something right.

After a moment he steps back, takes hold of her arms and fixes her with an intent look. “Now, listen, are you sure you’re okay with Daniel and O’Neill coming over tonight? Because we don’t have to do this. We can tell them no.”

Her stomach flips over like she’s been found out. “What do you mean?”

“Well, last time Daniel was here you got pretty upset. I don’t want that happening again.” 

“Oh,” she shakes her head in uneasy relief. “That was…forget that. It’s just that sometimes I miss them.”

“Daniel and O’Neill?”

“And Teal’c. I miss what we used to have, I guess, and Daniel just…” She swallows a mouthful of guilt. “He reminded me that a lot of things have changed.”

“For the better, I hope?”

“Mostly.”

He looks hurt. “ _Mostly_?”

“I don’t mean us. I’m talking about—” She stops because she doesn’t want to upset him and she’s not even sure what she means. “Never mind, it was stupid. It won’t happen again.”

He cocks his head, looks serious. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Sam. I don’t want you being unhappy.”

“I’m not. I’m fine, Pete, I promise.” Then, to change the subject, she says, “Hey, don’t forget to get me cashew chicken.”

“As if I would,” he says, and kisses her on the nose.

“And Szechuan noodles,” her dad adds as he joins them from the guest room, bag in hand and ready to go. “Kamarl wants to try them.”

Pete makes dutiful notes and Sam knows he won’t forget because he’s great at keeping track of all those little details. He’ll remember the beer too, and most likely will pick up chocolate fudge ice cream because he knows it’s her favorite. And he’ll set the table and it will be grown-up and proper. No lounging around on the sofa pinching noodles from someone else’s carton with your chopsticks.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” She glances around, sees her dad looking at her like he just asked a question. “Sorry,” she says. “I was just wondering what to wear tonight.” 

Her dad’s eyebrows lift. “To eat take-out?”

“I told her,” Pete says. “She always looks beautiful.”

“Well you got that much right,” her dad says. He flicks a glance at them both and says, “I’ll see you in the car, Sam. Pete, you have a good day.”

“He’s leaving us alone to say goodbye,” Sam says as the front door shuts, amused by the idea.

Pete grins. “How long do you think we have?”

“About thirty seconds?”

He makes a show of considering the possibilities, then just kisses her again and says, “He likes me, right? Your dad.”

“Of course he does,” she says and it feels a little like she’s convincing herself as well as him. But it’s okay, because her dad has always been fussy; he never liked any of her boyfriends. “It takes him a while to warm up to people,” she explains. “Even people he likes.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t call him Dad?”

She kind of agrees with that, but doesn’t want to hurt his feelings because he’s trying really hard. “I think it’s fine,” she says. “I think he likes it.”

A white lie. She’ll talk to her dad about it in the car.

“I love you,” Pete says suddenly, in the way he has of blurting it out as if she might not realize. “I really do love you.”

She smiles and hugs him. “I know.”

He waves goodbye from the porch as she backs her Volvo out of the driveway, and she feels proud that her dad can see that she has this – that she, Sam Carter, has a house and a loving husband and a life. Just like her mom did, just like you’re supposed to have when you’re a couple years shy of forty.

She’s humming again as she drives and her dad says, “Are you happy, Sam?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. “Of course.”

“No regrets?”

“About what?”

From the corner of her eye she sees him shrug. “Paths not taken?”

“What paths?” she says with a sudden, unaccountable irritation. “Did Daniel say something to you?”

“Daniel? No. Why?”

Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “Pete loves me,” she says. “We have a house. We might start a family. Why would I have regrets? Why wouldn’t _that_ make me happy?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then says, “It will make you happy if it’s what you want.”

“Well then,” she says.

“ _Is_ it what you want?”

She glances at him and the car swerves a little as she takes her eyes of the road. He grabs the seat just like he used to when she was sixteen and he didn’t trust her driving. He still doesn’t trust her driving, she thinks. “Dad,” she says, “this is my life and I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He makes a disbelieving face. “Then you know more than most people, Sam.”

“I’m happy,” she repeats. “This is what I want.”

“But is it _everything_ you want?” 

“Why do you think it isn’t?”

He’s silent and squints out the window into the morning sunshine. “When you were a little girl,” he says, “you used to want to be an astronaut.”

She smiles. “I know.”

“It seemed impossible, back then. We just smiled and thought it was a child’s fantasy. But look at you now, Sam. Look at everything you’ve done, everywhere you’ve gone. I’m in awe of your achievements.”

“Dad...”

“No, I am,” he says. “I mean it. You wanted the impossible and you went out and got it. You got everything that you wanted and more.” A beat of silence falls, the smooth hum of the engine the only sound in the car. “You can still have everything you want, Sam.”

“Not everything,” she says around a sudden lump in her throat. “No one has everything they want. Otherwise we’d still have Mom.”

He doesn’t answer right away, puts his hand on her knee and squeezes. “If there was _any_ way to change that, Sam, you better believe I’d take it. No matter what it cost me.”

She’s silent, eyes on the road – eyes ahead and not looking back. Never looking back.

“We can’t change the past, Dad,” she says. “We can only make the best of now, and that’s what I’m doing.”

***

She spends the day in her old lab.

It’s strange being back there, every nook and cranny crammed full of memories, like ghosts from her recent past. She can see Daniel slumped in the old chair in the corner, Teal’c standing with his arms behind his back as he listens intently, and Colonel O’Neill eyeing her from the doorway with some spurious excuse for visiting late at night when no one is around. 

She misses them all, misses what they were. 

But there are other memories too: the grief of losing Daniel, of watching him die; Janet’s senseless, shocking death and the dreadful moment she’d told Cassie; and losing the colonel, losing him again and again and each time worse than the last, each time pummeling her heart until in the end she simply couldn’t carry on. 

Those are the memories that remind her why she’d had to make a change. They remind her why Pete is good for her and why she needs someone outside of this, someone who loves her and cares for her and doesn’t expect her to save the world. Someone who only wants her to come home at the end of the day and who thinks she’s great just for being herself – just for being Sam. 

Her Dad might talk about having it all, but Sam’s figured out it’s best to be content with what you’ve got. And mostly she is, mostly she’s content.

At lunchtime Daniel pops in and when he opens the door her heart lurches in anticipation of someone else. It takes a few minutes for her pulse to slow.

“Can I you get you anything?” he asks when she tells him she’s too busy to eat in the commissary. 

“No, I’ll grab something later,” she says. _When the general is in his next meeting._

It’s not that she’s avoiding him, it’s just— Scratch that. She _is_ avoiding him, because they haven’t exchanged a single email, text or phone call in a week, not since their tense exchange about Kerry. That one-word question he asked is hanging in the ether between them and she still doesn’t have an answer to give him. 

Yes despite that, despite not knowing what she’ll say to him when they meet, she realizes that she wants to see him. She’s anticipating it with the kind of guilty pleasure she reserves for chocolate and long, lazy baths.

She’s not sure how she can be both avoiding him and wanting to see him, but then her feelings for the general have always been a collision of impossibilities and she supposes this is no different. She both wants and dreads the meeting and she’s not sure whether she dreads it more than wants it until someone says, “Well this brings back memories.”

And then she has her answer: want. Definite want.

He’s leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, hands in his BDU pockets. Her heart somersaults, the bolt of attraction impervious to the rings on her finger, jabbing her hard in the pit of her stomach. She has to swallow before she says, “General, hi.”

He ambles into her lab, gazing around just like she had earlier. She wonders what ghosts he’s seeing in the corners. He picks up an old soldering-iron stand, toying with it and not looking at her as he says, “So I hear I’m invited to dinner?”

She grimaces at the awkwardness. “Dad’s idea.”

“I figured.”

“Sir, if you don’t want to come, I—”

“Sam,” he says, startling her into silence by the use of her name. He puts the stand back on the bench, returns his hands to his pockets, and looks at her. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

He takes a breath and she can see him straightening his shoulders, bracing himself. “I should have told you about Kerry,” he says. “I knew you guys were friends, and I should have told you we were involved. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

He looks earnest and genuinely apologetic and she has to clamp down on a dangerous urge to hug him. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t— I mean, it’s really none of my business.”

He sighs, a long breath, and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Look, Sam,” he says – the second time he’s used her name in as many minutes – “I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking is good,” she says, smiling nervously.

He matches her smile with one equally tense. “We have to stop pretending we don’t have a complicated history,” he says. “It doesn’t work and we end up,” he gestures between them, “like this, not talking.”

“I hate that,” she says, stunned into honestly by his frankness. “I hate not talking.”

“Yeah, me too.” He clears his throat. “So I figure, if we’re honest about the complications, then we stand a better chance of staying friends.” 

She nods, electrified by his openness. “I want us to always be friends.”

“Okay then, good.” He taps the bench like a period at the end of a sentence, like that’s all settled, and turns toward the door. “So I’ll see you?”

“Wait.” She’s not ready to leave it there. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks wary, but in their new spirit of _glasnost_ says, “Why not?”

“Why did you leave the SGC?”

He looks at her for a long time and doesn’t answer. It makes her nervous, because she was fully expecting to hear _Because I got offered a job I couldn’t turn down_ or maybe, _Because Kerry was in DC and it made sense_. 

His silence unnerves her and she finds herself blurting, “Daniel told me you left because of me.”

His eyebrows rise. “Daniel,” he says slowly, “should learn to keep his mouth shut.”

It’s not the denial she’s expecting and she feels a shimmer of panic. “But I’m not the reason,” she insists. “Daniel didn’t know about Kerry.”

He looks at her, then frowns down at the floor and says, “It wasn’t because of you.”

Relief is followed swiftly by something that might be disappointment if she looked closely enough to examine it, but before she can do anything he carries on speaking.

“I left because it was easier – for me. Maybe it was selfish, but—” He breaks off, lowers his voice and says, “Sam, you know how I felt” – a wry grimace – “how I _feel_ about you. I just needed some distance from the situation.” 

And now she actually can’t breathe, can’t suck air into her lungs, because what he’s saying is impossible. He can’t mean that he still – even now – has feelings for her? Because that would mean she’s hurting him, that would mean he thinks she married Pete _knowing_ that he still cared about her. That would mean he thinks she left him behind. 

Oh, God, she realizes in horror, that would mean she _did_ leave him behind. 

He registers her dismay and holds up his hands, stepping back in alarm. “Hey,” he says, “it’s not an issue, I swear. I’m moving on too.”

“That’s not—” She can’t get the words out, doesn’t even know where to start. “I never meant to—”

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“Carter,” he says, with a hint of an order. “Leave it.”

It’s enough to silence her, but not to calm her racing heart or her wildly spinning mind. 

Apparently oblivious – or maybe just desperate to get away – he says, “I’m gonna…” and gestures toward the door. “I don’t have a car, but Daniel’s giving me a ride over, so I guess I’ll see you later?”

She nods, mute with distress and the need to conceal it.

“We don’t ever need to talk about this again,” he says quietly. “Just so you know.”

And with that he’s gone and she’s standing alone in her lab, rigid with disbelief and wondering how on earth she’s going to get through the evening – or the rest of her life – because she feels like she’s waking from a long dream and all she can think is, _Why didn’t he tell me?_

***

He takes a long shower in the VIP quarters. It gives him time to think and he clings to the illusion that he’s somehow washing away the discomfort of his conversation with Carter.

It’s been a long day, starting with a long flight and ending with a series of long meetings about intractable problems half a galaxy away that may – or may not – impact on the security of Earth. And while he’s always happy to leave the Pentagon for a little field trip, the short notice means his schedule for the rest of the week will be hellish.

Not for the first time he wonders why he doesn’t just take that retirement. The quiet and solitude of his cabin looks immensely appealing from this perspective. And yet…well, there was a time when it would have been even more appealing, but that ship’s sailed and he’s only too aware of how quiet and solitude can quickly turn into isolation and loneliness. He’s not quite ready to become the crazy old man who lives alone in the woods. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on his people.

He dresses in the only civilian clothes he brought with him for one night away – cargo pants, long sleeved t-shirt and a sweater – and hopes it’s nice enough for the Shanahan household. Jacob told him to dress up, although Jack thinks he was joking. It’s always hard to tell with Jacob, and the new snake seems to be making him more pointed than usual. 

He spends a moment staring at himself in the mirror. He’s never been vain, but he’s not stupid either and remembers the way women used to look at him. They still do, although not so much these days. He wonders what Carter sees when she looks at him now, whether age has anything to do with why her feelings changed. Shanahan is young, smooth-skinned – kinda solid, actually – and certainly less damaged. But Jack’s lived a life, he’s seen and done more than most people, and it shows on his face. He figures he’s earned those lines, those shadows, and he doesn’t begrudge them. In fact he likes his face better now than he did when he was young and stupid. He is what he is and he’s come to terms with that; he can come to terms with losing Carter to Pete Shanahan too. 

Daniel gives him a ride over and they’re already running late before they leave the base because Daniel lost track of time and Jack had to drag him out of his lab.

“Sam won’t mind if we’re a few minutes late,” Daniel assures him as they cross the parking lot and he hunts in his pocket for his keys. “Anyway, we need to stop and buy something on the way.”

“What kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. Some wine, maybe?”

“Really?”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “I see Washington hasn’t improved your social graces.”

 _It’s only take-out at Carter’s_ , he thinks, and gets into the car without comment. The truth is, he just wants to get there and get it over with and all this delay is ramping up the nervous tension. Spending the evening watching Carter and Shanahan playing the happy couple is not his idea of fun.

“So,” Daniel says, once they’re on the road, “tell me about Kerry Johnson.”

Ah. “News travels fast.”

“Not that fast,” Daniel says with an acerbic flavor to his words. “Since it turns out you’ve been dating her for a couple of _months_.”

“It’s not really dating,” he says.

Daniel looks at him, eyebrows raised. “So what is it?”

“Will you watch the road when you’re driving?”

He sighs, turns his head back around. “If it’s not dating, what is it?”

“It’s just—company.”

“Jesus, Jack,” Daniel huffs. “You make her sound like an escort.”

“Hey,” he objects. “That’s out of line.”

“Ah, so you do actually care about her, then?”

“Tell me,” Jack says, reaching into his pocket for his sunglasses because the setting sun’s right in his eyes, “how is this any of your business?”

“Because I’m your friend,” Daniel says patiently, like he’s talking to a child. “You know what friends are, right? People who care about what’s going on in your life?”

He makes a noncommittal grunt. “I don’t ask about your love life.”

“That’s because I don’t have one.”

“That’s not the point,” he says. “I don’t _ask_.”

“So it’s not serious, then?” Daniel persists, suddenly lurching across two lanes of traffic into the exit lane and acknowledging the blaring horns with a casual wave of his hand. 

“Your driving is terrible,” Jack says, not for the first time. “I don’t know how you even make it to work alive.”

Daniel pulls into the parking lot of a liquor store and says, “Don’t change the subject.”

“I can’t even remember the subject.”

It takes them five minutes to buy wine. Well, Daniel buys wine and Jack buys chocolates because he figures Carter will eat most of them before Shanahan has the chance. Petty, maybe, but he’s not above a little pettiness from time to time. Also, he doesn’t much like wine with Chinese food. 

“I hope they have beer,” he says as they get back in the car. “Maybe I should’ve picked up a six-pack.”

“It’s Sam’s house,” Daniel says. “Of course she’ll have beer.”

The house, Jack realizes when they pull up in front of it, is _not_ Sam’s house. In fact, it has ‘soccer mom’ written all over it, and they sit in the car in silence for a moment, just looking at it. There’s even an SUV in the driveway, pulled up tight behind Carter’s Volvo. 

“Yeah,” Daniel says after a moment of contemplation. “That’s what I thought.”

“They’re missing the white picket fence.”

“I’m sure Pete’s got it all planned out.”

Jack throws him a look. “I don’t think you like him.”

“He’s okay,” Daniel says, brow furrowing in that way he has of looking slightly guilty and concerned all at once. “I just don’t think he’s right for Sam.”

“She’s happy, Daniel.”

“Is she?” Those piercing eyes of his skewer him. “Do you really think so? Because I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t think Sam’s been happy for a long time. Not since we lost Janet.”

That hits him hard, like a slap. “Really?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

He hasn’t, but then he’s spent the better part of the last eighteen months trying to cope with his own sense of loss, of fading hope. 

“People can make bad decisions when they’re grieving,” Daniel points out. “Grief can make you do—” He stops suddenly and can’t quite keep the wince from showing on his face. “Sorry,” he says. 

Jack knows exactly what he’s thinking – that he has an intimate knowledge of grief – and he doesn’t want to go there, so he just says, “You should talk to her about it some time.”

“Or you could,” Daniel says.

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” He gets out of the car to end the conversation and heads for the house, not waiting for Daniel.

There are flowers in tubs on the porch and a mat that says ‘Welcome to our Home’ on it. Jack has the weird sensation that he’s walking onto a film set, into some facsimile of the perfect suburban house. Daniel’s concerns notwithstanding, he can’t help feeling the way he did at the wedding – like none of this is really Carter.

He rings the doorbell and tries to dislodge the thought. It’s dangerous. He can’t let himself imagine there’s any kind of hope here, because he knows what it means to get married and he’s not the guy who gets in the way of those vows.

Daniel comes jogging up behind him just as the door opens and Shanahan is standing there grinning. “Hey! Come on in, guys,” he says, like they’re best buds. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Sam, honey, Daniel and General O’Neill are here!”

“Call me Jack,” he says as he steps inside.

“Sure thing,” Shanahan says, offering his hand. “Sam always calls you ‘the general’, though.”

“I know,” he says as they shake. “She kinda has to.”

And then there she is, looking extremely girly in a dress that seems as much at odds with her personality as the rest of the house. He can’t help himself, he smiles in amusement. “Well, look at you.”

She runs her hands over the front of the dress. It’s kind of low-cut, so he keeps his eyes on her face. “Hey,” she says awkwardly, not quite meeting his eyes. 

He guesses his openness earlier has freaked her out a little, and that’s okay because it freaked him out too, but he’s determined to show her that his feelings are not going to be a problem. “Nice, uh, dress,” he says, and maybe it would be if she didn’t look so uncomfortable in it.

“Thanks,” she says. “Um, actually Pete just bought it for me. It was a surprise so, you know, I thought I’d better wear it.”

“Okay,” he says, and has absolutely nothing to say about that. He can only imagine the look Sara would have given him if he’d come home and presented her with a dress. 

It’s one of those moments when they just stare at each other as if they really want to say something but every topic of conversation is embargoed. Luckily, Daniel comes to the rescue.

“Sam,” he says, working his way past Jack and kissing her on the cheek, “you look lovely.”

And it’s then Jack realizes he’s standing there clutching a box of chocolates, so he hands them over and says, “He’s right, Carter, you look nice.” But he doesn’t kiss her.

“Thanks, sir,” she says with a tense smile, “so do you. Um, I mean…” She frowns in that way she does when she’s feeling awkward.

He feels compelled to rescue her. “Well, thank you. My tux was at the cleaners, so…”

She smiles, their eyes meet, and for a moment – a moment – he can imagine nothing’s changed. 

But then Shanahan’s there, sliding his arm around Carter’s waist. “So, come on through,” he says. “Dad’s in the kitchen.”

He tries hard not to react to ‘Dad’ and notices that Carter’s studying something on the far wall with sudden, intense curiosity. 

“Lead the way,” Jack says, when it seems that words have failed even Daniel.

Jacob hands Jack a beer without asking. He takes a good long swallow and it hits the spot nicely.

“I was just telling Jacob about the countertops,” Shanahan says, rapping his knuckles against the counter. “Granite, one hundred percent. I got a great deal down at Planet Granite. You know it?”

“Ah, no,” Jack says, and can’t help adding, “but I think we went there once, right, Carter? Lots of rocks.”

She smiles, that half-swallowed grin that makes his heart trip. Stupid heart. 

“For your kitchen?” Pete asks, confused. “Why was Sam with you?”

Jack takes another mouthful of beer to hide his smile.

“He’s joking,” Carter explains. “ _Planet_ Granite?”

“Oh.” Shanahan laughs, unconvincingly. “Duh, of course. No, no aliens on this trip. Unless you count the teenager behind the counter!”

Daniel laughs gamely, Jack smiles and Jacob says, “So, Jack, how was the President last time you saw him?”

Carter throws her father a look and Jack, sensing a little tension, just says, “Oh, you know. Presidential.”

Pete is frowning down at his one-hundred-percent-granite countertop in silence and Carter reaches out and takes his hand like she’s reassuring him. Jack looks away quickly, because seeing that still hurts more than it should.

“So what’s he like?” Daniel says, pouring a glass of the wine he brought. “I voted for him, by the way, so I have a right to know.”

“Busy,” Jack says. “He has strong views on M&Ms – he won’t eat the blue ones.” 

He only says it to make Carter smile again and she does, beautifully. But Shanahan looks appalled. “You’re kidding,” he says. “Man, I can’t believe that.”

“Yep,” Jack agrees, deadpan. “I am kidding. It’s the red ones he hates.”

Shanahan frowns and Jack feels a little sorry for him. It’s too much like shooting fish in a barrel, and it’s not fair to Carter. “Actually,” he says more seriously, “he thinks I should move.”

“House or job?” Jacob says.

“House. I guess he thinks I’m gonna be in DC for the long haul. He thinks buying a house there will be an investment.”

Daniel laughs. “The President of the United States is giving you investment advice? Isn’t there some kind of law against that?”

“It’s good advice,” Jacob says, “if you’re not planning on coming back to the SGC, that is.”

Carter’s turned her back on them now and she’s filling a pitcher with water at the sink and pulling glasses out of one of the cupboards. 

“I can’t see that happening,” Jack says, half an eye on her. He hopes she’s not pissed he was teasing Shanahan.

“You never know,” Jacob says. “Anything could happen. Just because—” he glances at Pete “—the situation has changed, doesn’t mean things are going to stay like this forever.”

“True,” Jack agrees. “But that’s gonna be someone else’s fight because I’m _this_ close to retirement.”

Jacob snorts dismissively and Carter turns around, looks at Jack over her shoulder. “Really?”

He shrugs. “A couple of years, I figure.”

Her lips press tight together in an expression he can’t read and she picks up the pitcher and a couple of glasses.

“Wow,” Shanahan says. “A couple of years? Man, I wish. I’ve still got fifteen to go, minimum.”

 _Slick_ , Jack thinks, but doesn’t comment. It’s not like it’s a secret that Pete’s the youngest person in the room.

“Nah, you’ll never retire,” Jacob says, ignoring Shanahan. “Not until you’ve got a good reason.”

“Fishing isn’t a good reason?” 

Jacob waves that away with a flap of his hand. “You’re like me, Jack. You won’t stop until you drop.”

“Not even then,” Carter says as she’s heading out of the kitchen, the pitcher and glasses in her hands. “I’ve lost track of how many times we lost General O’Neill, but it never stopped him.” She flashes him a look. “I guess you’ve never really wanted to retire, sir.”

He doesn’t know where that came from, but he can’t let it go. Not even with Shanahan standing right there. “Oh I _wanted_ to,” he says. “I just never found the right moment.”

There’s a beat of silence and into it Daniel says, “Speaking of the right moment, are we almost ready to eat? I’m starving.”

And then there’s a bustle of activity as the food – keeping warm in the oven – is taken out and Jacob shows them all into the ‘dining room’. 

Carter has a dining room, apparently, with a large glass table set for five, with candles and shiny silverware that looks like it’s never been out of the box. A wedding present, Jack assumes.

“Wow,” Daniel says as they enter, “this is fancy.”

“Last time I visited,” Jacob says, “Sam didn’t even own bowls.”

Jack smiles. “I remember that.”

He takes a seat and tries not to lift an eyebrow at the neatly folded napkin on the plate in front of him. He likes to eat Chinese with chopsticks, straight from the carton, but he guesses it’s not going to be that kind of evening.

“We’re really happy with the house.” Shanahan says, lighting the candles in a kind of self-satisfied display that erases Jack’s earlier moment of sympathy. “And we’re trying to make it a real home, aren’t we Sam?”

“We’re what?” she says, carrying in a tray full of take-out cartons.

Pete takes it from her. “Here, let me,” he says. “That’s heavy.”

Jack can’t help catching her eye but does a good job of letting nothing show on his face. He thinks it would probably never occur to him to offer to carry something for Carter – he’s too used to depending on her strength, mental and physical – and maybe that’s why she chose Shanahan in the end. Maybe with Pete she can relax in a way she never could with him? 

It’s a depressing thought.

“Sam,” Jacob says, taking a seat at the end of the table, next to Jack. “Come sit next to me.”

She smiles and does, which means she’s sitting opposite Jack and she glances over at him with a familiar, awkward smile. It’s the one she’s given him across the briefing room table a thousand times or more. Pete sits next to her and after a procession of passing cartons around, everyone has a plate full of food.

Shanahan raises his glass. “To Sam,” he says.

“What?” She shakes her head. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the reason we’re all here,” he says, and leans over to kiss her cheek.

Jack can see her flush all the way down to— He stops looking and raises his glass. “And to absent friends,” he adds, thinking of Teal’c and Fraiser.

Sam nods and touches her glass to his. “Absent friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Daniel says as they all begin to eat. “How’s Cassie?”

It’s a potentially touchy subject. Cassie had begged off the wedding because of finals, although she’d told Jack that it had more to do with the guy Sam was marrying than the exams. Whether she told Sam the same, Jack doesn’t know and isn’t about to ask. Either way, they talk about her for a while, about how well she’s doing at MIT and how well she’s handled the year and more since Fraiser died. When he can, Jack watches Carter’s face, looking for the unhappiness Daniel claims to have seen. She doesn’t laugh as much as she used to, it’s true, and there’s a definite melancholy in her eyes when she’s talking about Cassie and Fraiser. She seems tenser too, less at ease with herself than usual. But then this whole situation is uneasy – eating Chinese food with a knife and fork at a table set with candles and some kind of easy-listening music playing in the background. But he can’t say she looks unhappy, not really. 

Every so often Shanahan looks at her and smiles and she smiles back with a kind of patient encouragement. She’s not ablaze with enthusiasm the way he’s so often seen her, but he’s not sure that she’s unhappy either. Maybe what he’s seeing is simply contentment. He remembers it from his marriage too. No fire, just warmth.

“So Jack,” Daniel says, “you never finished telling me about Kerry Johnson.”

The broadside takes him by surprise and he tries to ignore the question, stuffing a forkful of noodles into his mouth and pretending he didn’t hear. Across the table, he sees Carter pick up her wine glass and take a long drink.

“Who’s Kerry?” Jacob asks.

Outflanked on both sides. 

“She’s the CIA attaché to Groom Lake,” Carter says, surprising him. Her eyes fix on her father as she says, “Kerry’s very nice. She and General O’Neill are dating.”

Jacob frowns. “Dating?”

“Oh, it’s not dating,” Daniel chips in. “Apparently.”

“Then what is it?” Jacob says.

“’Company’.” 

Pete makes a kind of whooping noise and says, “Jack, you dog!”

And that’s just about the last straw. “Should I leave?” Jack says. “So you can discuss my private life without me?”

“Not necessary,” Jacob says with a sharp look in his eye. “We’re doing pretty well with you here.”

“I noticed.”

“So come on, tell us,” Daniel says. “Oh – does anyone mind if I have the last of the Szechuan noodles?”

No one minds. And no one drops the subject, either.

“So it’s not dating?” Jacob persists, like a dog with a bone.

Jack sighs and Carter says, “Dad, it’s really none of our business.”

“Of course it is.”

She shoots him an apologetic look across the table and he sits back in his chair and figures he might as well get it over with. “Fine,” he says. “We’ve been seeing each other off and on for a couple of months. It’s very casual because we’re both—” He clears his throat while he considers how to cover the slip. “Neither of us is looking for anything serious, so we just hang out sometimes. For fun. Satisfied?”

He’s not sure who, exactly, he’s asking, but it’s Jacob who answers. “So you’re sleeping with her, but you’re not in love with her?”

“Dad!” Carter exclaims. “Oh my God…”

“What?” he says. “We’re all adults here. Anyway, Kamarl is curious. Human mating rituals fascinate him.”

Carter’s shaking her head, flushed pink, and next to Jack, Daniel’s laughing. For himself, Jack can’t tell if he’s pissed or amused. He thinks he’s both. “I’ll keep my mating rituals to myself,” he tells Jacob. “If it’s all the same to Kamarl.”

And that makes Carter snort, which makes Jack smile. 

“Um, anyone for ice cream?” Shanahan says from the end of the table and Jack figures that’s a good way to draw a veil over the whole awkward conversation.

After dinner, Daniel asks Shanahan for a tour of the house and Jacob tags along with a strange kind of enthusiasm given that he’s actually staying there. He’s not sure what Jacob’s up to but it’s definitely something. This new snake, he thinks, is an interventionist. But Jack’s not complaining because it leaves him and Carter alone to clear the table, and he’ll take that opportunity any day of the week. 

It’s sweetly awkward and mostly silent while they’re working. But they get the job done fast because even doing something as mundane as cleaning the kitchen, they work together seamlessly. Once the dishwasher is running, Carter grabs a sweatshirt off one of the kitchen chairs and says, “Want to take a look outside, sir?”

“Sure,” he says as she pulls the sweatshirt over her head. He’s relieved it covers up the expanse of skin she’s been revealing all evening. She looks more like herself, too, which he likes.

Outside it’s cool but not cold, and there’s a wide porch with steps that lead down into the yard. It’s too dark to see much, but he knows she hasn’t asked him out there to admire the view. She sits on the top step and he joins her, keeping a respectable distance and trying to stop imagining what it would feel like to put his arm around her and pull her close. 

“Sorry about my dad,” she says eventually. “I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “That was kinda weird.”

“Maybe Kamarl likes you?” she says with a quick grin.

He stares for a moment and then shoves her shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, “for that image.”

She laughs and pulls her knees up, hugging them close against the evening air. “I really like Kerry,” she says then. “I think we could be good friends.”

“Okay,” he says, not sure where she’s going with that.

“Does she…?” Sam looks at him again. “Have you told her about us?”

“What’s to tell?”

She frowns. “Not much, I guess. I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing – she’s at Groom Lake next week.” Her gaze moves away, out into the night. “No doubt you’ll come up in conversation and I thought we should both be on the same page.”

He takes a breath and thinks about it, because maybe he owes it to Kerry to tell her everything. “She knows I’m getting over someone,” he says. “She doesn’t know it’s you.”

Carter’s eyes shut tight for a moment, like it’s painful to hear.

“Sorry,” he says, embarrassed. “I don’t mean to—”

Her hand shoots out and touches his arm, stopping him. He feels the contact right down deep, in the pit of his stomach. “Jack,” she says, just as the kitchen door opens and light washes over them.

Carter’s on her feet in a second, looking guilty even though she has no reason to.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Pete demands from the doorway, his gaze darting between them. “Is he upsetting you, Sam?”

“No, of course not,” Carter says, taking a step toward him. “All done with the tour?”

There’s a look in Shanahan’s eyes that Jack doesn’t like, which makes him bristle and clench his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Pete says curtly. “And I think Daniel’s ready to leave now.”

“Oh?” Carter glances into the house in confusion. “Really?”

“We’ve both got an early start tomorrow,” he says, “so I think it’s time to call it a night.”

Carter touches his arm. “You okay, hon?”

“I’m fine,” he says in a way that most definitely means he’s pissed and Jack feels a sudden panicky sense of unease, a fear that he’s leaving Carter behind enemy lines. 

“Carter?” he says, not sure what to do.

She gives a tiny shake of her head, which only makes him feel more uneasy. “Sir, he’s right, you should probably go. I know you have an early flight.”

He does, but he couldn’t care less about sleeping right now. 

“Thanks for the chocolates,” she adds, slipping her arm through Shanahan’s. “We’ll really enjoy them.”

He hesitates but the mute appeal in Carter’s eyes is telling him to back off and he’s always trusted her judgment. Behind them he can see Jacob in the kitchen and that gives him some reassurance, but the tension radiating from Shanahan in sudden waves turns him cold. 

Until this moment, he’d always assumed his dislike of Shanahan was his own problem – a product of his envy – but now he realizes it’s something more, that there’s something real about this man that he doesn’t like.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says to Carter and doesn’t look at Shanahan at all. “See you in a couple of weeks?”

“Yes sir. I’m in DC at the end of the month.”

“I’ll be in touch before that,” he promises, and then, with a silent, assessing look at Shanahan, he heads back into the house to find Daniel. 

Jacob says a serious goodbye and Jack wishes he had time to talk to him before he leaves in the morning. Next time, he thinks, he’ll make a point of it.

“Well that was odd,” Daniel says once they’re back on the road.

Jack doesn’t really want to talk about it, still angry and troubled. But since Daniel brought it up, he says, “Which part?”

“Mostly the part where we got invited to leave.” Although Jack’s staring straight ahead, he can sense the glance Daniel darts in his direction. “Any idea what happened?”

“I don’t think Shanahan likes Carter having friends.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I’ve noticed that.”

He feels a flare of anger, directed entirely inward. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that before.”

To his credit, Daniel doesn’t say ‘I told you so’. “Maybe,” he says instead, “you didn’t trust your own feelings about the situation.”

It’s true, obviously, but he feels like he let her down somehow. Like he should have had her back, not been so wrapped up in his own sense of loss. He scrubs a hand through his hair and admits, “I don’t know what to do.” 

Daniel shrugs. “I’m not sure what we can do. I mean, I tried to talk to her about it before the wedding, remember? That was a disaster.”

He remembers. He also remembers telling Daniel it was a waste of time and that Carter had made her choice and they’d just have to live with it. Looking back, he realizes he’d just been voicing his own feelings on the situation and that he hadn’t actually actually paid a lot of attention to the nature of her relationship with Shanahan. The fact that it existed at all was bad enough. Stupid mistake. 

“Maybe you could talk to her this time?” Daniel suggests.

“No, I’m the last person who can talk to her about this.”

“If she knew how you felt—“

”For crying out loud, Daniel, she _knows_ , okay? And that’s exactly why I can’t tell her she married an asshole! I have zero credibility in this situation.”

Daniel’s silent, perhaps accepting the point, perhaps preparing a counter-argument. Before he can speak again, Jack says, “What about Teal’c? She respects him.” 

“Yeah, next time he’s here we could ask him. But with Sam in Nevada most of the time…”

It’s a fair point and gives Jack another idea. “Kerry,” he says, snapping his fingers because it’s a great idea. “Kerry can talk to her.”

There’s a moment’s silence before Daniel says, “Your _girlfriend_? Is that wise?” 

“She’s not—” Whatever, he doesn’t want to argue about that. “They’re friends,” he explains. “Carter and Kerry are friends, and in fact Kerry already said she thinks Carter married the wrong guy.” He thinks about that for a moment and wonders what they’d talked about for Kerry to reach that conclusion without even meeting Shanahan. He wonders if he would have seen it for himself if he’d been looking in the right place.

“You know, I think you’re right,” Daniel says. “Maybe it would be better coming from another woman.” He sighs. “If Janet were here...”

“Yeah, I know.” Fraiser’s death left such a big hole in all their lives, but especially in Carter’s. It’s not like the job lends itself to many women friends, after all. “Sam must miss her a lot.”

“I think she does,” Daniel says. “I think this has been a really tough couple of years for Sam.”

He doesn’t mean it as an accusation, but it feels like one because Jack didn’t notice. He’s been pulling back ever since Shanahan appeared on the scene and the guilt of what he might have missed is starting to solidify into a hard knot of regret. “I’ll talk to Kerry,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think to do. “She’s out at Groom Lake next week. I’ll ask her to talk to Sam about everything. To make sure she’s all right.”

There must be something in his voice that betrays his concerns because Daniel says, “What do you mean, ‘make sure she’s all right’? You don’t think Pete would—God, Jack, you don’t think he’d get violent, do you?”

“No. I—” He rubs a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s tired; he’s been tired for years, he realizes. “He didn’t like Carter and me talking out on the porch, he was angry and Carter seemed…I don’t know, nervous or something. I don’t think he’s violent. I just didn’t like the vibe.”

“Sam could probably kill him with her bare hands if necessary,” Daniel points out, and Jack’s not sure if he’s being wry or hopeful.

Either way, it’s not really the point. “Remember Jonas Hanson?” he says. “Sometimes it’s just about emotional manipulation.”

They drive in silence for a while, until Daniel turns off the interstate up toward the mountain. 

“Do you think we’re making this out to be worse than it is?” Daniel says eventually. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

There’s another silence, before Daniel says, “You know, I always thought that one day you guys would—”

“Yeah,” Jack says, cutting him off. “I know.”

“I think she still has feelings for you, you know?”

He shakes his head. “No, she doesn’t. Not like that.”

“Are you sure?”

He closes his eyes against a painful rush of memories and feelings. “She wouldn’t have married Shanahan if she did,” he points out. She wouldn’t have walked away if she felt half as much for him as he feels for her. 

Daniel doesn’t have an answer for that and the subject drops. They say goodbye in the parking lot and Jack promises to ask Kerry to talk to Sam and to keep Daniel apprised of the outcome. Daniel promises to stop by and see Carter more often on weekends when she’s in town, and they hug briefly before Jack heads back into the mountain.

As soon as he reaches his quarters he fishes out his phone, logs on to the wi-fi, and texts her. _Everything okay?_

Her answer comes an hour later, long after midnight, when he’s lying in bed, wide awake and worrying. _Yes, fine._

The initial relief is intense and he feels tension leave like a receding tide. But it doesn’t last long because – of course – she would say that, wouldn’t she? 

He texts back, _Scouts honor?_

_He just feels threatened sometimes. He doesn’t get the ‘team’ thing._

He stares at the little screen and writes, _No reason to get angry._

 _I know. I’m sorry_. _He’s not usually like that._

None of this is making him feel much better, but what can he do? He can’t order her to leave her asshole husband, after all. He decides to change the subject. _When are you in DC?_

_28-29th_

He hesitates over his reply – he’d like to ask her to dinner, but that’s probably a bad idea. Instead he says, _You still owe me donuts._

_I know. Top of my want-to-do list._

It makes him smile, the idea that she has a want-to-do list and that he’s on it at any point. _Looking forward to it_ , he says.

 _Me too._ And then a moment later she adds, _I’m glad we’re talking again. Let’s not stop._

There are a hundred things he could say to that, most of them inappropriate given that she’s a married woman, even if she is married to an asshole. 

So he settles on, _You betcha_ and starts counting the days until he’ll see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you're still enjoying it! Chapter Four: _Exposure_ up tomorrow. :)


	4. Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kerry's afraid it wouldn’t take much for this thing they have to tip from casual and fun into deep and serious, at least on her part. But she’s not sure she wants that and even less sure that Jack does.

Jack O’Neill is an intense lover.

Kerry muses on this fact while he dozes next to her on a lazy Sunday morning as she listens to the traffic hum past her house. Here, even Sunday mornings have traffic.

Briefly she toys with the idea of getting up and making coffee, but she’s still somewhat lost in the afterglow and doesn’t want to leave the warmth of her bed. She turns her head to look at him, tracing with her eyes the lines of his mouth and jaw. He’s handsome, but there’s more to him than that – a depth that’s attractive and dangerous all at once. She’s afraid it wouldn’t take much for this thing they have to tip from casual and fun into deep and serious, at least on her part. But she’s not sure she wants that and even less sure that Jack does. 

He can probably feel her watching him because he opens his eyes and gives her a sleepy smile. “That was nice.”

“Mmmm,” she agrees. “Want to go again?”

He lifts an eyebrow and says, “Twenty years ago, maybe.”

She smiles. He’s self-effacing and honest, two of his more attractive features. 

Rolling onto his side, he props his head up on his hand and says, “So you’re in Nevada all week, huh?”

“Back Thursday,” she says. “That give you long enough to recover?”

“Funny,” he says, with a wry smile that quickly fades. Another expression follows, more guarded. It’s a tell and she noticed it almost as soon as they met: he closes down whenever his emotions get too high. “I saw Carter last week. She said you guys were getting together.”

“That’s right. She’s threatened to take me quad-bike racing on the salt flats.”

“Really? You said there was nothing on Earth that would get you on the back of a bike.” 

“On the back of _your_ bike,” she says. “But quad bikes at least have four wheels on the ground, right? Not that I’m not still terrified.”

“Nah,” he says, “you’ll be fine. Carter knows what she’s doing.” Another pause, those shutters closing tighter. “Listen, Daniel and I were wondering…”

“Daniel Jackson?”

“Yeah. We’re worried about Sam – about her relationship with Pete.” There’s a slight hesitation there, right before he says ‘Pete’, like he can’t quite bring himself to say the word. 

She files that away and says, “I don’t blame you. He seems possessive. Jealous, even. The way he calls her all the time?” She shakes her head. “I’ve seen that too many times.”

Jack nods. “We thought maybe you could talk to her about it? See if she’s okay. You know, woman to woman?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Woman to woman?”

“You know what I mean. Girl talk.”

“And you guys can’t talk to her? You’ve known her how long? Eight years? And I’ve known her a couple months.”

His gaze slips away and he frowns down at the bed between them, drawing a pattern on the sheet with the tip of his finger. “That’s kinda why, really. We figured it might be easier for her to talk to someone she doesn’t know so well.” 

And she guesses that makes sense. Sometimes a friendly outsider can say things that old friends can’t. “Okay,” she says. “I’d be happy to talk to her, if you think it’ll help.”

“I do,” he says. “Thanks, Kerry.”

She kisses him. “You’re a good man, Jack O’Neill. You know that?”

“Nah,” he says, followed quickly by,“You want to go out for breakfast? I’m buying.”

It’s a clear conversational break, but she doesn’t mind changing the subject if he feels awkward. 

Besides, she’s hungry, and Sunday breakfast with Jack sounds like fun.

***

Turns out they’d been running quad-bike races every Wednesday evening for years, but Sam’s only just heard about it. She figures colonels don’t usually get invited, but doesn’t let that stop her. It’s a hell of a way to blow off steam.

She doesn’t have her own bike, of course, so she has to borrow one. But that’s okay. She’s only in it for the adrenaline rush and doesn’t care about winning. Well, not much. It makes her itch to ship her Indian out here, though. She never has time to ride in Colorado Springs anymore, so it would be perfect to have it in Nevada.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Kerry asks, strapping on her helmet.

“Mostly,” Sam says with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t go too fast.”

“How fast is too fast?”

“Just hold on, you’ll be fine.”

They’re not going to break any records, with two of them on the same machine, but Kerry didn’t want to ride solo and Sam doesn’t mind. It’s fun to have company. 

The flag goes down and Sam guns the engines. Gillespie and Scott shoot out on either side of her, but Kerry is whooping with delight and that makes up for their slow time. Sam’s grinning too and thinks she should get someone to take a photo and email it to the general. He’d think this was funny.

They compete in five races and don’t come in last in any, despite the extra weight. That’s good enough for Sam, and she and Kerry are both sweaty and high on adrenaline at the end of it all.

“Hey, Phillips!” she calls over to one of the airmen. “Take a picture?” She hands him her phone and she and Kerry pose on the bike. 

“You have to send me a copy,” Kerry grins, still breathless from the ride. “That was so much fun!”

By the time they get back to the base, shower and change, and head into town, it’s late. They go to Trudy’s, because it’s not like there’s a lot of choice and the food’s good. Sam’s happy, relaxed and not averse to a beer even if it is only Wednesday.

They knock their bottles together and Kerry says, “To having fun.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

In her pocket, Sam’s phone buzzes and she pulls it out to look. She’s hoping it’s from General O’Neill, because she emailed him the photo before she left and she grins when that’s exactly who it is.

“Pete?” Kerry says.

She shakes her head and shows her the message. “I sent General O’Neill the photo.”

He’s written. _Next time, I’m coming too._

Kerry smiles but before she can say anything Sam’s phone rings and this time it is Pete. “Sorry,” she says, and takes the call. He’s been difficult ever since he found her and the general talking on the porch and she doesn’t want to make it worse by rejecting his call. “Hey,” she says, turning away from Kerry.

“Just wondering where you are,” Pete says. “Still out with Jack’s girlfriend?”

“With Kerry, yes,” she says. “Like I told you. Listen, can I call you back? We’re about to eat.”

He’s silent. “Nah, don’t bother. I’m going to bed now. I have an early shift.”

“Oh,” she says, glancing at her watch – it’s nine already. “Well, I’ll call you tomorrow then?”

“I guess. Enjoy yourself,” he says, and hangs up.

She hates it when he does that; it feels like he’s shut the door in her face. But she plasters on a smile and says, “Time zones.”

Kerry nods in understanding. “Long-distance relationships are the pits.”

“No kidding.” She takes another long slug of beer and is surprised that she’s drained the bottle so fast.

“Let’s get another,” Kerry says and flags down a waitress. 

They eat steak and drink more beer and then Kerry pushes her mostly empty plate to one side and says, “So, Sam. What’s the deal with Pete?”

It’s an odd question; Sam doesn’t really want to answer. “What do you mean?”

Kerry fixes her with a firm look and says, “Because he hung up on you earlier and he’s sent at least three texts since, which you’ve ignored.” 

Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s because she’s had fun tonight and thinking about Pete is bringing her down, but she says, “Can we not talk about him?”

Kerry gives her a searching look. “Why not?”

“I just—I want a night off.”

“From your husband?” 

She rolls her eyes. “From _everything_.”

“What’s everything?”

She leans forward, spreads her hands on the table, and says, “Do you ever think that life is just too complicated?”

Kerry laughs. “This from the astrophysicist?”

“I’m serious. There is no equation that makes sense of my life.”

“X plus Y equals eternal happiness? Yeah, I get why that approach doesn’t work.”

Sam shrugs, sinks back in her chair and snags her second beer. She swallows a mouthful. “So what’s your secret? You seem happy.”

Kerry smiles and looks like she’s trying not to answer, like she’s remembering something intimate and secret. Sam feels a roll of unnerving envy. 

“You have to work at being happy,” Kerry says. “Take it from me – I stayed in my marriage at least three years too long, trying to work at it. But what’s the point? By the end we hated each other. It would have been easier to get out early, as soon as I figured out it wasn’t working.”

“I didn’t say my marriage isn’t working,” Sam says, suddenly defensive. 

“So you’re happy?” Kerry nods toward the phone. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“It does, but he’s not always like that. When it’s just us, when I’m at home, he’s really sweet. He makes me breakfast and brings me flowers. He bought me a dress the other night, just because!”

Kerry’s eyebrows lift. “A dress?”

“I’ve spent my life in uniform,” she confesses, leaning forward. “Pete likes me in dresses and I own practically none. So he buys them for me sometimes.”

“He chooses them for you?” If she’s trying to hide her incredulity, she’s doing a poor job. “Without you there?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise otherwise.”

“But do you like them? I mean, has he got good taste? Most men I know can’t get further than black lace underwear.”

Sam shrugs. “I guess he does. I mean, he says they look good on me.”

Kerry stares at her, frowns, and takes a long swallow of beer. “Sam,” she says at length, “you do know that when you walk into a meeting at the Pentagon people are intimidated by you, right?”

She rolls her eyes because it’s true, although she’s not sure what point Kerry’s making. “They think I’m smart, and smart scares people, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Kerry nods. “Smart, capable, confident. All those things. Beautiful too, I might add. Not that it matters.”

Sam shakes her head, confused. “I don’t know what—”

“Sam,” she says, reaching over the table and taking her free hand in both her own. “I don’t know you that well, but don’t you think it’s a little odd that a smart, confident, capable Air Force colonel lets her husband choose what she’s going to wear and then has no opinion on whether or not she even likes it?”

She’s starting to wish she’d stuck to Diet Coke; this conversation is not going well and she feels like she’s lost control. Pulling her hand out from between Kerry’s, she says, “I don’t really care about clothes, so…”

“Really?”

“Marriage is a compromise,” she says. “What difference does it make if I wear a dress he chose?”

“And what difference should it make to Pete what you’re wearing?” 

“You’ve never even met him,” Sam says, feeling panic rising. She’s sacrificed a lot to marry Pete, for this normal life she’s building. Who the hell does Kerry think she is, telling her it’s not working?

“I haven’t met him, you’re right,” Kerry says. “But sometimes it takes a friend to point out something that’s right in front of your face.”

“Well, you’re wrong. All of you are wrong. My marriage is fine.”

“All of us? Who’s all of us?”

Sam shakes her head, but can’t shake her panic. “You,” she says, “Daniel, my Dad. You all think it’s wrong, but you don’t know how hard I’ve—” She takes a breath. “So maybe Pete isn’t the perfect choice, but he’s the best choice I had. I’m almost forty, Kerry. I’m older than my mom was when she died, and she’d had two kids by then.”

There’s a silent moment, the one that always follows when she mentions her mother’s death. Inevitably, Kerry says, “I’m sorry about your mom. I didn’t know. You must have been very young.”

“I was twelve,” she says, and swallows hard. The emotion is unusually present tonight. Not just tonight, actually. She’s been thinking about her mom a lot since they lost Janet, since she decided to marry Pete. But all she says is, “It was a long time ago now.” 

That’s what she always says when people tell her they’re sorry, because it doesn’t really mean anything but it’s usually enough to satisfy them. General O’Neill says the same when people ask about Charlie, but they both know the truth: it doesn’t matter how long ago it was, it still hurts. 

“But I bet your mom,” Kerry says quietly, glancing around the restaurant, “hadn’t traveled as _widely_ as you have.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Sam says impatiently. “I didn’t want to be single my whole life, Kerry. I didn’t want to wait forever for something perfect that might never happen. I was being pragmatic. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Kerry says carefully. “Not if you love him.”

“Who?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Pete. Why? Is there someone else in the equation?” 

She feels herself flush. “No, of course not.”

“You do know I’ve been trained to notice when people are being economical with the truth?”

Sam’s silent and then takes another swallow of beer. “I didn’t realize this was an interrogation.”

“Come on,” Kerry says, leaning back in her chair. “It’s just girl talk. You said you didn’t want to wait for something perfect that ‘might never happen’. Who was he?”

Sam shakes her head, but inside something is rising – a desire to talk about it, to spill everything and lay it all out where she can see it. Maybe if Janet had still been with them, or if she’d still had her mom, she could have talked to them about it, but they’re both gone and she’s got no one to talk to about this whole stupid, painful mess. And it’s not like Kerry is ideal, but she’s there and she’s offering and suddenly Sam feels emotion welling up that she can’t suppress. She swipes at her eyes, takes a shaky breath and says, “Okay, strictly between you and me?”

“Strictly.”

“You can’t tell _anyone_.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

Sam nods and steps out over the abyss. “So you’re right, there was someone.”

To her credit, Kerry doesn’t look triumphant; she just cocks her head to listen. All around them is the noise of the Wednesday-night restaurant crowd, but between them there is silence. 

Into it, Sam says, “We knew each other for a long time. And we came to have feelings – strong feelings – for each other, but there were reasons we couldn’t be together and so we weren’t.” She lifts the beer to her lips, surprised that her hand is shaking. “After a while, he cooled off and I figured his feelings had changed, and even though mine hadn’t, I knew I had to move on. And then I met Pete.”

“So you settled?”

She doesn’t like that phrase, doesn’t like the idea behind it. “That’s not fair,” she says. “This other thing – it wasn’t going anywhere.”

Kerry lets a beat fall. “Because he’s married?”

_No_. The denial forms on her lips, but she holds it back. She can’t tell Kerry the truth, can’t even tell her it’s someone she worked with because it’s too dangerous in too many ways. And in the real world, where no one cares about military regulations, how many other ironclad reasons are there for denying your feelings for so long? So in the end, and with a flush because it sounds sordid, she says, “Something like that.”

Kerry nods, but doesn’t judge. “So you walked away, and decided to move on with your life?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life pining over someone I couldn’t have. And Pete is a good man, Kerry. I’m the center of his world.”

“That’s nice,” she says, taking another mouthful of beer. “But he’s not the center of your world, is he?”

She can’t deny it, and shakes her head. “I’m trying,” she says. “I really want it to work. I like having someone in my life. It’s just that I still—” God, it hurts when she talks about it like this, when she lets herself feel it. Her voice turns husky and she clears her throat. “I still care about the—the other guy.”

Kerry lifts an eyebrow. “Care about?” she says. “What does that mean? I hate euphemisms.”

Sam gives an awkward shrug. “Do the words matter?”

“Yes, if they mean you’re not being honest with yourself.”

She thinks about that as the waitress comes back and Kerry orders them a slice each of apple pie and peach cobbler _à la mode_. When they’re alone again, Sam says “I don’t even know how to describe how I feel about him.”

“Do you love him?”

Sam shakes her head. “No. It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“I can’t explain it.” She touches her chest, the center of her breastbone. “It’s like he’s right in here and always will be. No matter how much I try, I don’t think I’ll ever—” And suddenly she’s losing it, her words swallowed up by the truth she’s speaking aloud for the first time. “Oh God,” she whispers, sinking her head into her hands, “I’m so screwed up.”

She feels Kerry’s fingers brush her arm, reassuring. “It’s okay.”

“No,” she shakes her head, feels her eyes swim with tears. “It’s awful and I don’t know what to do.”

“Can you talk to him about it?”

“What’s the point? Nothing’s changed.”

“He’s still married?”

She doesn’t answer that directly, although he’s still in the job – still in her chain of command. All she says is, “ _I’m_ married, now.”

Kerry’s silent for a beat, and then says, “Well, it might not be the fairy-tale ending, Sam, but if you’ve married the wrong man then you might just have to cut your losses and get out. Trust me, it’ll be less painful for everyone that way. Including Pete.”

But how can she do that? How can she be someone who walks away from her marriage? How can she be someone who agreed to marry a man when she was in love with someone else? None of this feels like her. “I thought his feelings had changed,” she says, head still in her hands, staring at the tabletop. “But now he says he still cares. But he didn’t try to stop me from marrying Pete. He didn’t do anything.” She looks up at Kerry, swipes a hand across her eyes when she sees the waitress approaching with their dessert. “What does that mean?” she says. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“One peach cobbler and one apple pie!” the waitress beams, and Kerry tells her to just put them in the middle and they’ll share. “You bet!” she says and swishes away.

Sam sniffs and Kerry hands her a Kleenex. She smiles her thanks and blows her nose. “That’s almost what hurts the most,” Sam says, walking herself through her feelings. “I mean, I thought he— He once told me he’d rather die than lose me, but when I started dating Pete he didn’t say a word. Nothing. I even showed him the ring before I’d said yes to Pete. I thought maybe that—” She shrugs. “Nothing. He didn’t once tell me not to do it. He didn’t once tell me that he still cared about me. At least not until after I was married.”

Kerry sighs. “Bastard.” 

“No, he’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s—trust me, he’s a good man.”

Kerry shakes her head, doesn’t look convinced. “If he really cared about you, wouldn’t he have left his wife? Wouldn’t he have done everything he could to stop you from marrying another man?”

“It’s not that simple,” she says, although the justification sounds weak even to her own ears. “I mean, there are reasons the situation can’t change. It’s not what you think, but I guess I can’t understand why he didn’t say anything about Pete. I mean, if he’d just given me a clue that he still felt something for me…”

“That would have been enough? That would have stopped you from marrying Pete?”

She nods, because it’s the shameful truth. “If I thought there was a chance we could be together one day, I don’t think I could have—” Tears threaten again, and she forces them back, forces a smile. “So you see, it’s hopeless.”

“Complicated,” Kerry agrees. “Not hopeless.”

“So what do you think I should do?”

Kerry just smiles. “Right now,” she says, “I think you should eat dessert.”

***

Officers serving at Jack O’Neill’s exalted heights don’t have time for things like lunch breaks, but Kerry meets him with coffee as he leaves the Strategic Risk Forum en route to his weekly security briefing with Agent Barrett.

“You got five minutes?” she asks, handing him the cup. 

“You’ve bribed me with Starbucks, how can I refuse?” She smiles at that and he slows his pace so she can fall into step beside him. “How was Nevada?”

By which he means ‘how was Carter?’ but he’s not going to let that be the first thing out of his mouth. Kerry gives him a sideways glance and says, “Interesting.”

He cocks an eyebrow and realizes they’re talking about Sam anyway. “Interesting how?”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime this week and we’ll talk about it?”

“Okay,” he says, although he kind of wants to order her to spill the details right then and there. Too bad he can’t give her orders. “How about tonight?”

She shakes her head. “Can’t do it. How about Thursday?”

“Sure,” he says. Then, because he can’t wait for three nights to know, he adds, “Carter’s okay, right?”

Kerry gives a non-committal smile. “If you mean physically, then yeah, that’s not an issue.”

“But otherwise?” They’re slowing because he’s almost at his next meeting, which is taking place in his office, and he can see Barrett already in there waiting. But he needs to know this, he needs to know right now. “Kerry?”

She looks a little awkward, like she’s keeping secrets. “I can’t go into details,” she says. “I promised. But just for example – you know Sam’s in DC this week, right?”

He deploys his best poker face. “I think she said something about that.” 

“Well.” Kerry leans closer, drops her voice. “She’s flying in Wednesday, and was planning to head home Thursday. So I invited her to stay with me over the weekend – you know, do some shopping, hang out a little? I figured she could use a friend.”

Jack’s stomach tightens at that, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“So we decided, and then a couple of days later I get a text from her saying she can’t make it. No explanation. So I call her and it turns out Pete wasn’t happy, he threw some kind of hissy fit, and she cancelled. I told her to come anyway, but she said she understood his point because she’s away so much, yadda, yadda.” Kerry gives a rueful shrug. “So I guess that’s where she is – as an example.”

His teeth are gritted and it’s an effort to speak without letting on exactly how angry he feels. “I can’t believe Carter would let him get away with that crap,” he manages. “It’s just not like her.”

“Yeah,” Kerry says. “Pete sounds like a real ass.”

Jack glances into his office, lifts a hand to show Barrett he’s on his way. “I have to go,” he says, “but we’ll talk Thursday?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

They part and he heads into his office, past his staff who all look like they want to ask him a dozen questions each. “Anything about to blow up?” he asks the room. “I mean literally?”

There’s a chorus of ‘no sirs’ and he says, “Great. I’ve got half an hour after I’m done with Barrett, so get me the top five urgent things and we’ll talk.” Then he’s through the glass door and into the relative quiet of his office.

Barrett stands up from the visitor’s chair. “General O’Neill.”

“Barrett,” he waves him back down. “Take a load off.”

He takes the chair next to Barrett, dispensing with the desk, and unbuttons his jacket. One of the things he likes least about this job is the shirt and tie and he runs a finger under the collar and toys with the idea of undoing it a little. “So what do we have, Barrett? Anything good?”

Barrett’s eyebrows rise and he says, “That depends on your definition of good, sir.”

He goes through the usual reports of infractions and potential risks, none of which are out of the ordinary, and updates him on the current threat level. Jack listens with one ear, although his mind is distracted by his conversation with Kerry. On the one hand he’s relieved that Carter’s physically okay, not that he really thought Shanahan was the violent type. But her other story is disturbing and only reinforces his sense of unease, his fear that he should have seen this coming, should have protected her better. 

Barrett gets to the end of his briefing but before he finishes, just when Jack thinks he’s about to wrap up, his eyebrows beetle and he says, “There’s one more thing, sir. It might be nothing, I’m still chasing it down, but I wanted to bring it to your attention right away.”

“Okay…”

Barrett shifts a little awkwardly and says, “There’s been some irregular activity around Colonel Carter, sir.”

Well, that gets his attention. “What kind of activity?”

“An unauthorized FBI check,” Barrett says. “Someone ran a background on the colonel back in January ‘04.”

A dull thud of panic starts in his chest, mind spinning back to Adrian Conrad. Ba’al. Fifth. Anyone who could mean her harm. “Who ran it?”

“That’s what we’re looking into, sir. It seems to have been done without official sanction – at least, there’s no paper trail. The good news is, they didn’t get any information. Her file is blocked.”

“Anyone else in the program targeted?”

“No sir. Not that we’ve found. This only came to light because of the enhanced security checks surrounding the colonel’s new assignment.”

Jack leans forward, elbows on knees and drops his head into his hands to give himself a moment to think and control his sudden panic. Whoever ran the check hadn’t done anything since, and it was eighteen months ago now, so there’s that in their favor. Not that bad guys aren’t capable of long-term strategy, and frankly, the idea of anyone running extralegal security checks on any of his people makes his skin prickle just on principle. “Okay,” he says, looking up. “I want to know who ran the check and why the hell we didn’t know about it sooner. Oh, and brief the CIA too – Agent Johnson’s the Groom Lake liaison.”

“Yes sir, already on it.”

“Does Carter know?”

Barrett shakes his head. “I wanted to talk with you about it first, sir.”

“Tell her,” he decides, “but make sure she knows it can’t go any further than her. Until we know what the hell’s going on, the fewer people in the loop the better.”

“Yes sir,” Barrett says, already on his feet. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have more information.”

“Make it fast, Agent Barrett. We both know the kinds of people who take an interest in Colonel Carter.”

He nods. “Yes, sir, we do.”

When he’s gone, Jack gives himself a couple of minutes before he faces his staff. With Carter stationed at Groom Lake, this is the first time since he left the SGC that she’s been in any kind of jeopardy. And he hates it. He hates that he can’t watch her back, can’t do much at all. 

But he can do something. 

He pulls out his phone, glances out at his staff – as if they could somehow see what he’s doing – and sends her a message: _Give me your flight details. I’m meeting you at the airport tomorrow._

A minute later she replies with, _Why?_

He toys with the truth, but in the end just says, _You owe me donuts. I want to collect._

She answers with her flight number and a smiley face.

***

Sam’s flight arrives on time, but spends a couple of minutes in a holding pattern with Washington DC spread out in a carpet of lights below them until it’s their turn to land. She’s only in DC for one night, so she’s packed light and doesn’t have to wait for checked bags.

They taxi to the gate and everyone, it seems, except her jumps to their feet and stands waiting in the aisle. Sam pulls out her phone instead and texts Pete, _Just landed xx_

She hesitates a moment, denying that there’s fizz of anticipation in her stomach, and then texts the general, _Just landed._

He replies right away with, _Just parking._

A moment after that her phone buzzes again and it’s Pete. _Call me when you get to the hotel. Miss you xoxo_

She feels a queasy sense of guilt and puts her phone away, glances up and sees the people at the front of the plane begin to shuffle forward. She gets up, snags her bag from the overhead bin, and joins the line.

She’s a little conscious of the crush in the airport following Agent Barrett’s call the previous day, but not really worried. The illegal FBI check was run over a year ago, and whoever did it hadn’t found any information. Not that it isn’t creepy, but she figures she’s in no more danger now than she has been the whole of the last eighteen months. But it’s in the back of her mind as she walks through the terminal, a tingling sense of alert when people get too close, and she’s actually glad that the general’s meeting her. They both know he’s only doing it because he’s concerned, although if he was _really_ concerned he would have sent the secret service. She figures this is just him looking out for his people, as usual.

She won’t let herself think about whether his concern goes deeper than that, just like she’s trying not to think about all those things she confessed to Kerry, or about the fact that her new confidant is currently dating General O’Neill. That’s weird in a way she doesn’t like to contemplate, but she figures that unless things get more serious between Kerry and the general, it’s only herself who’ll have to deal with the weird. It’s not like Kerry will ever know who she was talking about, after all.

Slowing as she passes the security checkpoint, she looks around for the general and feels a jolt of delight when their eyes meet almost at once. He smiles and lifts a hand to wave and she wishes she didn’t feel quite so happy to see him.

“Hey Carter,” he says as they meet, “good flight?”

“Same old, same old,” she says, trying to look like she hasn’t noticed how good he looks out of uniform. “I don’t think I’ve flown this frequently since the Gulf.”

“Better food though?”

“Seats are worse.”

He smiles at that and glances at her bag, like he’s thinking about whether or not to offer to carry it. Pete wouldn’t have asked – he’d have just taken it from her – but the general does neither and leaves her to carry it herself. And that’s fine with her.

“I’m parked in C,” he says, with a wave of his hand toward the parking garages.

They head off and Sam says, “You know you didn’t need to do this, sir. I could have gotten a shuttle bus or a cab.”

He gives her a look. “I didn’t tell you about my evening job?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t expect a tip.”

They walk on for a while, out of the terminal and across the bridge to the parking garage. It’s a warm night, sticky compared to the dry heat of Nevada. The general looks good – relaxed – his clothes slightly more urban than she’s used to. He catches her watching and quirks a curious eyebrow.

“Just wondering why you’re here, sir,” she says smoothly. “Although I’m assuming it’s because of the FBI thing?”

“Let’s talk in the car,” he says.

And when he says car he means car, and she shouldn’t be surprised but it’s still kind of odd not to see his truck. He must understand the look on her face because he gives a rueful shrug as presses the key fob and unlocks the doors. “Truck’s still in Colorado for now, but I’ll probably sell. It gets terrible mileage in the city and I don’t drive much here anyway.”

“I don’t get much time to ride my bike anymore, either,” she says. “Although I was thinking of shipping it out to Nevada, and trying it on the salt flats.”

“Is that safe?”

She shrugs. “Mostly.”

He opens the trunk and she puts her bag inside. 

“I miss the Springs,” he says. 

“Me too.”

He gives her a strange look. 

“What?”

“You still live there.”

She thinks about that as she gets in the car, that she can miss a place where she still lives. Of course, most of her time is spent either in Nevada or DC, but she thinks it means something that she misses Colorado Springs. She’s just not sure she wants to know what that something is.

She’s staying at the Residence Inn Arlington, which is just a few minutes from the airport, and she finds herself regretting the light traffic as they pull out of the parking garage. It won’t be a long drive.

“Does Barrett know any more?” she says, once they’re on the road. She figures it’s a safe topic of conversation.

The general shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“I’m not worried, sir,” she says, which is mostly true. “I mean, it was a while ago now.”

“I don’t care how long ago it was, Carter. Until we know the details, I’m worrying about it.”

“Barrett didn’t think I needed any security protection.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” he says, and shoots her a sideways glance. “It’s not like you haven’t run into trouble on this planet before.”

It’s a good point and she acknowledges the truth with a sigh. “I guess my new role would make me valuable to a whole new range of people. Commercial interests, I mean.”

“No kidding. Microsoft, Google, Apple – those guys would kill for half of what you know.”

She smiles at that. “Not literally, I hope.”

“You never know.”

It’s a familiar route, from the airport to the hotel, so she notices immediately when the general deviates, turns off early and heads into a quieter, residential area.

“Sir?” she says.

He slows, glances in the rearview mirror, and pulls over to the curb. He glances at her. “Look, I tried to get you quarters on base, citing security reasons.”

It’s dark in the car; they’re parked between pools of light cast by the streetlights. She feels a spike of tension. “Sir, that’s not necessary. The hotel—”

“Carter – _someone_ has been running background checks on you.” He fixes her with a serious look and she concedes the point with a shrug. “Anyway,” he says, “there were no secure quarters available anywhere. I figure my house is the next-best thing. I’ve got a couple of spare rooms...” 

She can’t ignore the way her heart is racing. “Sir, are you inviting me to stay with you?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? We could catch up, hang out. It’ll be fun. And safer than the hotel.” He gives her half a smile. “I even have cops outside my house.”

She hesitates, thinking of Pete and how he wouldn’t understand, thinking of how much she wants to say yes. And somewhere in the back of her mind she hears Daniel’s voice urging her to do what she wants, and not what she thinks is right, for once in her life. 

She thinks she should decline the invitation and ask the general to take her to the hotel, but what she actually says is, “That sounds great, sir. Thank you.”

He looks momentarily startled before he breaks into a sudden grin, the kind she’s not seen in years. It takes about a decade off him. “Okay,” he says, and she realizes he was expecting her to refuse. “Okay, good.”

His surprise makes her smile too, nervous tension fizzing under her skin. It’s dangerous, this decision, it’s risky. But she remembers that she likes risks; they make her feel alive, more like herself. And it’s only then, as the general throws the car into gear and pulls away from the curb, that she realizes she hasn’t felt like herself for a long time. Not since before Janet died, probably.

His house is ten minutes away, a townhouse with parking out front. Across the street she can see the police car and the general waves to them as he gets out, pops the trunk, and lets Sam fish out her bags. “They’re mostly for show,” he says. “They only send them over when the threat level goes to orange, but there’s never a car around back so it’s kinda pointless.” 

She feels a flush of heat, wonders who the police officers think she is, and then decides it’s none of their damn business. It’s no one’s business. They’re not doing anything wrong. They’re old friends who don’t get to see each other often, and they’re allowed this. God knows, they’ve given up enough for the job. She’ll be damned if she’ll give up their friendship too.

She turns her back on the cops and looks up at the house. “Nice.”

“Big,” he says. “Too many bedrooms, but I wanted the deck.”

He heads up to the front door and she follows, unable to suppress a little thrill as he steps inside and turns on the lights. Of course she’s been to his house in Colorado Springs before, but rarely on her own, and anyway this is different in a way she can’t quite identify.

They enter through a wide hallway and he throws his keys into a bowl on a table against the wall. Ahead is an open space she assumes must include the kitchen and family room, with a more formal living room behind her, overlooking the road. “Wow, this is great,” she says.

“Rental,” he reminds her, and nods toward the kitchen. “Leave your gear here and come on through.”

It’s obvious that the kitchen/family room is where he spends most of his time. She can see running shoes under the table, a stack of newspapers on the floor by the sofa, and a PlayStation plugged into the TV. That makes her grin.

“Hungry?” he says, from the kitchen. 

She is, but it’s almost eleven here and she thinks he must be tired. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I had a sandwich on the plane.”

“Oh, please,” he says and opens the fridge, staring into it as if waiting for inspiration. “I have bagels, cream cheese. Eggs.” He looks at her around the edge of the fridge door. “Omelet?”

“Sir, you don’t need to—”

“ _I’m_ hungry,” he says, cutting her off. “But you can watch me eat if you’re not.”

She smiles. “Well, in that case…”

He pulls food from the fridge and says, “Take a seat.”

There’s a kind of breakfast bar, so she pulls up a stool and he slides a beer and a bottle opener over to her. It’s exactly what she wants. She pops the lid, takes a long drink and feels herself start to relax even though she knows the alcohol can’t have hit her system yet. “That’s good,” she sighs. 

“Long day?”

“Not as long as you,” she says, “it’s only eight o’clock in my part of the world.”

He gives a careless shrug and starts slicing leeks. “Who’s counting?”

In her pocket her phone buzzes and reminds her that she hasn’t called Pete yet. She doesn’t want to talk to him, though, because that would mean lying and she doesn’t want to sit in the general’s kitchen and let him hear her lying to her husband. So she lets it go to voicemail and then sends a text, _Really tired, I’ll call you tomorrow._

The general either doesn’t hear the phone ring or chooses not to notice; Sam decides to do the same. “Can I help, sir?” 

“Probably,” he says. “Think you can figure out how to work the toaster?”

Turns out, the general makes a pretty good omelet. And her toasted bagels aren’t too bad either. “Leeks,” he says, around a mouthful of food.

“Leeks, sir?”

He waves his fork at the omelet. “Secret ingredient.”

“Huh,” she says. “I thought it was beer.”

He picks up his bottle, swallows a mouthful. “Best served on the side.”

She picks up her own bottle, clinks it against his. “Thanks for dinner, sir.”

“Anytime, Sam.”

She watches him for a moment as he goes back to eating. He’s sitting on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, which is pretty narrow, and maybe he can feel her eyes on him because after a moment he looks up at her and says, “What?”

She hesitates, but only for a moment, before she says, “Why are you doing that?”

“Eating?”

“Calling me ‘Sam’ all of a sudden.”

“Oh,” he says and chases a piece of omelet around his plate. “I guess I always thought it was your name. Did I get it wrong?”

She shakes her head at the joke, but doesn’t let the subject drop. “You used to call me Carter.”

“I used to be your CO.”

“And that’s why?”

He’s eyeing her carefully. “Mostly,” he says after a moment. “Do you mind me calling you Sam?”

“No,” she says. “I just wondered why the change.”

“You know, it’s okay to have friends,” he tells her, which she thinks is an odd thing to say until she remembers that she just turned down Kerry’s invitation to spend the weekend. It makes her feel uneasy to think of Kerry and the general talking about her.

She’s finished eating so gets up to put her plate in the dishwasher. “Is this about Kerry?” she says while her back is to him.

After a moment’s silence he says, “No, it’s about you.” He joins her at the dishwasher, starts loading it with everything he used to cook. “I’m just saying, it’s okay for you to have friends, and it’s okay for me to be one of them. That’s all.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks, arms folded and leaning a hip against the counter. 

He lifts an eyebrow at her obvious challenge in a way that tells her he won’t let it slide. “Did you tell Shanahan where you’re staying tonight?”

She flushes but holds her ground. “So this _is_ about me not staying the weekend with Kerry.”

Closing the dishwasher he mirrors her stance, arms folded. “It’s about you, Sam. It’s about you doing what you want to do and not—” He cuts himself off, mouth suddenly a tight line that she recognizes. This is what Jack O’Neill looks like when he’s not telling her everything. “It’s not okay for Pete to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

He strikes a nerve, and her anger flares. “He doesn’t do that.”

“So he knows where you are right now?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because you know why I can’t tell him.”

He looks surprised, genuinely shocked. “You mean—you told him we had a…thing?”

“Ha!” She laughs at that, but it’s an angry laugh and she doesn’t like how it sounds. “We never had a ‘thing’.”

There’s a beat of silence, then “Okay,” he says, and heads past the breakfast bar and drops down onto the sofa. He still has a beer in his hand and there’s a hard flicker of irritation in his eyes. “What would you call it?”

“I don’t know,” she shoots back, still irritable and upset. “A mess?”

He flinches, only around the eyes but she notices. “Okay,” he says again and takes a long drink, emptying the bottle. 

She’s hurt him, she knows it and the pain washes right back right over. “Sir, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter now.” 

“Yes it does,” she says and crosses the kitchen, sitting down on the sofa next to him, curling her legs up beneath her. “I didn’t…I’ve never said anything to Pete about us. I wouldn’t.”

He watches her warily, like he’s clamping down hard on something. “We weren’t going to talk about this again,” he reminds her eventually.

“I guess it’s hard not to. It’s kind of a big thing for us.”

His lips tug toward a smile and he gazes down at the empty bottle in his hands. “Kinda.”

There’s silence, but the tension’s easing along with her draining irritation. She knows he’s only trying to be a friend and she’s not making it easy. “You’re right,” she says after a while. “It is okay that we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”

“I wish…” She swallows, because it feels like a risk to say it out loud. “I wish we could see more of each other, sir. I miss you.”

She catches his reaction, the way he goes completely still for a heartbeat or two. She thinks it’s so he won’t give anything away, some primal response to surprise honed by a couple of decades in the field. “That would be good,” he says carefully. “I’d like that. You’re always welcome here, you know.”

“I like it here,” she says, glancing around the large kitchen. There are no memories here, she thinks, nothing to haunt her from their past. Maybe here they can be friends, not complicated, unrequited lovers. 

It’s a good plan, she thinks, and it lasts at least thirty seconds – right up to the moment he looks over at her with affection in his eyes and says, “You want to watch TV for a while?”

It feels so normal and so right, and it hurts with such a sweet pain, that it steals her breath. She can only smile and nod when he reaches for the remote and flicks through the channels until he reaches CNN. “News, or something less depressing?”

“I don’t care,” she says, because she couldn’t care less what’s on the TV screen. The only thing she’s thinking about is him.

He settles back, long legs stretched out, and glances at her, then at the TV, and then back to her again. Something shoots across his face, a fleeting expression she doesn’t catch, and then he’s reaching out and tugging on the sleeve of her sweater. “C’mere, you,” he says.

And she does, moving before she can think too much, slipping under his arm and resting her head against his shoulder, sighing as he pulls her close. She curls her legs up so her knees rest against his thigh and lets her eyes drift shut, absorbing every sensation: the warmth of his shirt beneath her cheek, the play of his muscles when he moves, the way his thumb absently strokes her shoulder.

It feels like relief, like a long cool drink on a hot day. Like a dozen other clichés. But, looking back, she’ll always remember it as the calm before the storm.

***

Jack runs most mornings. It always seems like a very bad idea until he steps outside and takes in the first breath of cool morning air, and then he’s glad he dragged himself out of bed. Today it isn’t so much of a chore, partly because it’s a brilliant early-summer morning but mostly because Sam Carter is in his house and he always feels charged and alive when he’s around her. 

He runs for about thirty minutes, the caution ingrained during his Special Forces days obliging him to choose a random five-mile circuit around the neighborhood. Necessity and preference make him run early, when the streets are quiet, but it’s early enough in the year that it’s already light. He thinks he’ll probably resort to the treadmill down in the rec room when the mornings get dark and cold. Not that he’s a wuss, but he figures he doesn’t have to prove anything about his ability to endure cold, dark and wet conditions. He’s earned the right to take the soft option now and then.

He comes home around the back of the house, up onto the deck, breathing hard, and takes a few minutes to cool down and catch his breath, stretching out muscles. Too long sitting behind a desk every day is playing hell with his back, but the running helps. It helps him relax too, and gives him space to think.

Today, he’s thinking about Carter. Just for a change.

He pulls his sweatshirt over his head, mops his face with it, and heads inside. It’s still early, so he doesn’t expect to see her up and standing in his kitchen, barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, making coffee. 

“Hey,” she says. “Good run?”

“Good in the sense that it’s over,” he says, dropping his sweatshirt onto a chair. “You’re up early.”

She smiles, shrugs. Her hair, he notices, is still damp from the shower and curls around her ears. He’d like to kiss her right there, he thinks suddenly, walk up behind her, slip his arms around her waist, and kiss her right where her damp hair is curling against her neck. 

“Sir?” She’s looking at him with that curious expression that means she’s asked him a question and he’s not been listening. Her head tips to one side. “You want some coffee?”

“Ah, no,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to clear his wandering mind. “Thanks, I’ll shower first. Help yourself to anything,” he says, and heads past her and up to his bathroom.

He sets the water in the shower to run as cool as he can stand it.

Like Carter, he throws on a t-shirt and jeans. There’s an hour before the car shows up and he doesn’t want to wear his uniform yet. He’s enjoying this faux domesticity too much to bring a reminder of rank into the equation.

When he gets back to the kitchen he can smell coffee and Carter’s pulled out bowls, cereal, and juice, and there’s something toasting in the toaster. She’s sitting at the kitchen table that looks out over the deck, eating cereal and reading yesterday’s copy of the _Post_. The sun’s touching her hair, making it shine golden, and he has to take a moment to steady himself against this perfect scene. In some other reality, he thinks, this might happen every morning. Regret tightens its hold, squeezing his heart until it hurts. But regret is an old adversary, with its pernicious ‘if only you had’ and ‘if only you hadn’t’, and he knows the only way past it is to accept how things are and to make the best of what you’ve still got. Like this morning, this hour until he puts on his uniform and steps back into the real world.

“You want this toast?” he says as the toaster pops up.

Carter lifts her head. “Yeah. I put a couple pieces in in case you wanted some too.”

He pours himself a bowl of Total and drenches it in milk, piles the toast onto a couple of plates, and makes his way over to the table. Carter has the coffee pot there already, with two mugs. 

She makes room for him, folding the newspaper away, and smiles when he sits down. “No Fruit Loops, sir?”

He rolls his eyes and pokes at his cereal. “Desk job,” he says. “It’s amazing how little fun stuff you can eat when you’re sitting in an office all day.”

She gives a rueful laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“You miss it?” he says around a spoonful of Total.

She thinks about the question, looks out the window for a moment. “I don’t miss getting shot at,” she says, “but I guess I do miss the exploration, the adrenaline rush.”

“You could go back,” he suggests, although he’s not keen on the idea of her out there without him on her six. “Landry would have you back in a heartbeat, maybe heading up the science department?”

She shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be the same,” she says. “Besides—” She stops herself, lips twisting into that wry smile of hers. “I’m kind of getting used to the regular hours.”

“Jet lag notwithstanding?”

“Easier than gate lag.”

He acknowledges it with a shrug. “Who’d have thought, huh? You and me, working nine-to-five.”

“What a way to make a living,” she sings, then grins.

He chuckles and reaches for the coffee, tops up her mug and fills his own. She smiles across the table and he thinks, in another life, he’d reach out and take her hand. But he can’t, so he doesn’t, and they eat in companionable silence, eyes occasionally meeting, until the clock on the kitchen wall tells him he’s got half an hour before the car shows up and that he should probably go change. He gives himself another five minutes to finish his coffee.

“I saw Kerry last week,” Carter says as she helps herself to the last piece of toast. “We had dinner.”

“Oh?” It’s not that he’s pretending he doesn’t know, it’s more that he wants her to keep talking.

“I really like her,” she says, eyes on the butter as she spreads her toast. “She’s very direct.”

It’s awkward, talking about Kerry. He’s afraid of giving too much away so he reflects the subject back to her. “You guys have fun?”

Her eyebrows lift in an expression he interprets as ‘not exactly’ and, given Kerry’s brief rundown of their conversation, he’s not surprised. “It made me realize how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone to talk to,” she says, then glances at him and quickly adds, “I mean a girlfriend, you know? I haven’t really, I mean not since we lost Janet...” She trails off and takes a sip of coffee to cover the emotion he can see in her eyes. 

“You miss her,” he says. “We all do, but you guys were close.”

She nods. “Kerry reminds me of Janet sometimes. She’s not afraid to tell it like it is.”

He laughs, more at the description of Fraiser than Kerry. “I guess that’s true,” he says. 

“They’re good to have around, people like that.” She looks at him, holds his gaze. “I’m glad you— I mean, I’m happy you’re happy, sir.”

He’s tired of telling people it’s not serious, and anyway he figures it makes things easier on Carter if she thinks he’s starting some great new romance. And wasn’t that part of the reason he hooked up with Kerry in the first place? So that he’d look like he was moving on, so people would forget he’s in love with another man’s wife. So in lieu of an answer he says, “I’ve got a car coming at seven thirty. You want a ride?”

“In your town car?”

“Sure.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re joking.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Sir, there’s no way. You know what it’ll look like. It’s risky enough that I stayed here last night.”

He sighs, because she’s right and he’s just being greedy for another half-hour of her company. Doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, though. “It’s not like we’ve done anything wrong,” he protests.

“It’s not like we _ever_ did anything wrong,” she points out. “It was never about what we did, it was about what we—” She clears her throat. “Sorry, we’re not talking about it.”

“We certainly did a lot of _that_ ,” he says. “Not talking about it.”

It makes her smile but she doesn’t comment, just stands up and starts clearing the breakfast things away. “What’s the nearest Metro stop?”

“Virginia Square is a couple blocks north of here. I could have the car drop you off.”

She laughs. “Right, that wouldn’t look suspicious.”

He joins her in clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. “Okay, plan B. You start walking and then we’ll drive past you and I’ll tell the driver to pull over and give you a ride.” He’s being silly. She knows it and it makes her grin – which is all he really wants.

“I’ll take the Metro,” she says, closing the dishwasher. “And I bet I get there at least twenty minutes before you.”

“Carter,” he says with a slow grin, “is that a challenge? Because I gotta warn you, my driver knows some pretty sweet shortcuts.”

She smiles, that brilliant flash of delight that always sends him spinning. “Loser buys coffee.”

“Lunch?”

“Confident,” she says with an arch smile. “How about dinner?”

Unaccountably – or perhaps entirely predictably – his heart rate kicks up a notch. “You’re on,” he says, and tries not to think about the fact that they’ve somehow made a dinner date. Not that it’s a date. But it is dinner, with Sam Carter, and that’s a pretty good start to the day.

***

Kerry bumps into Sam – literally – just past the security checkpoint, because Sam’s stopped in the middle of the corridor to send a text and Kerry’s not looking where she’s going.

“Oh, hey!” she says when she recognizes Sam. “I was going to call you today.”

Sam looks embarrassed, although she’s smiling as she slips her phone into her pocket. “Sorry,” she says, “I was just—” She stops, shakes her head as if clearing it. “I was going to call you too, actually.”

They walk on together, both heading in the same direction for a while. “Did you fly in last night?” Kerry says, more to make conversation than anything else.

“Yeah,” Sam says with another flash of awkwardness, but she quickly brushes it aside and says, “Look, I’m really sorry about this weekend. It was just—it’s really hard on Pete, me being away so much, and if I didn’t go home this weekend…”

Kerry’s torn between telling her it’s not a problem and reminding her that Pete’s a grown man who can survive for the weekend – hell, even a couple of weeks – without her. In the end she says, “Another time then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, although there’s a doubtful look on her face. “I’d really like that.”

Kerry squeezes her arm, to show there are no hard feelings. “You got time for coffee this afternoon? I’m slammed until three, but then I’m pretty free.”

“Sure,” Sam says with that sudden smile she has, the one that looks like she turned her brights on. “My flight’s not until seven, so I’ll actually be killing time this afternoon.”

“Perfect,” Kerry says. “Usual place at three, then?”

“Count on it.”

Their usual place is actually outside the Pentagon, and halfway to Sam’s customary hotel. When Kerry gets there, twenty minutes late because her meeting ran late, she spots Sam sitting at a table in the window checking her phone. She’s smiling a smile Kerry’s not seen before. It’s a little goofy, like she’s having too much fun. Kerry wonders if she’s texting Pete, but somehow she doubts it.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she drops into the chair opposite Sam. “Colonel Adams does _not_ know when to shut up.”

“Oh God,” Sam says, pocketing her phone, “that man loves the sound of his own voice. And he’s always right.”

“Sure,” Kerry agrees, “in his own little corner of reality.”

Sam smiles and says, “Let me get you something. Latte?”

They’ve been taking turns paying and Kerry can’t remember whose turn it is, but Sam has a mind for that kind of detail so Kerry assumes she’s right. It’s not busy and Sam’s back quickly with two lattes and a brownie to split.

They chat about this and that. Sam apologizes again for not being able to stay the weekend, Kerry tells her – again – that it’s fine, but that she’s invited Jack over for dinner tonight and it’s a shame Sam can’t join them because she’s sure they’d like to catch up. And it’s just as Sam’s agreeing that she sees something over Kerry’s shoulder and stops talking mid-sentence, her jaw dropping. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Kerry turns around to see a man approaching their table, youngish, slightly receding hairline, a round face and a broad grin.

“Surprise!” he says, making a little show of it.

Kerry turns back around to see Sam getting to her feet. She looks surprised all right, or at least bemused. “Pete?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

_Oh_ , Kerry thinks, curiosity piqued. So _this_ is Pete. 

He reaches Sam, leans in and kisses her quickly on the mouth. “I’ve come to see my beautiful wife.”

“But I’m flying home in a couple of hours!”

“That’s what you think.”

Sam puts a hand to her forehead. “Pete…”

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, glancing at Kerry for the first time. “Hi, I’m Pete.”

“Kerry,” she says, almost as bemused as Sam but enjoying the opportunity to meet the man in person.

“Kerry Johnson?” he says. “Jack O’Neill’s girlfriend?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not normally how I define myself.” 

“This is Agent Johnson,” Sam says, sitting down, obviously embarrassed. “CIA liaison to Groom Lake.”

Pete holds out his hand, unfazed. “Detective Shanahan, CSPD. Nice to meet you, Kerry.”

They shake and Kerry is more than happy to fade into the background and observe as Pete turns back to Sam and says, “I knew you wanted to spend the weekend in DC, and I figured, hey, why not? So I booked us a suite at the Radisson.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. Kerry’s amazed at how wide – the woman has enormous eyes. “I— Pete, I have to work tomorrow. In my office. In Nevada.”

He waves a hand. “It’s taken care of.”

“What?”

He looks pleased with himself, leaning back in his chair. “I called your boss and got you a day off. I told him it was a special occasion.”

Kerry takes a sip of her coffee, avoiding looking at either of them, waiting for Sam’s response. 

“Pete, did you lie to Colonel McKenzie?” 

“It’s not a lie,” he says, although Kerry can detect a beat of frustration despite his jovial tone. “Sam, come on, this is gonna be fun. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble, don’t ruin it.”

Sam looks embarrassed and helpless and Kerry feels a sudden surge of sympathy, so she decides to mount a rescue. “Hey,” she says, “Sam, this is great.” She turns to Pete. “I was just saying that it’s a shame Sam’s flying back tonight because I was hoping she could have dinner with me and Jack. But now you can both come.” 

“Dinner with you and Jack?” Pete echoes, glancing at Sam then back to Kerry. “Well, how can we say no to that?”

Kerry smiles, hoping she’s defused the tension a little or at least bought Sam a night out with friends. “Wonderful.”

But Sam’s answering smile is almost a rictus. “Yeah,” she says stiffly. “That’ll be great.”

***

It’s halfway through the evening when the puzzle pieces fall into place – and not in a good way.

Jack is less than thrilled by the prospect of dinner with Pete and Sam, and Kerry thinks that he’d have refused to come at all if she hadn’t sprung it on him when he was already in her apartment. Nevertheless, his “You did _what_?” gives her a glimpse of the General O’Neill his subordinates might know and fear.

Not that he intimidated _her_ , but his reaction to dinner with a former colleague and her husband seemed oddly extreme. That’s the first piece of the puzzle, she comes to realize later.

She spends the first hour of the evening watching Pete, and watching Sam and Pete together. He seems uneasy, his smile a little forced as if he has to try too hard. Sam is drawn tight, legs crossed, and one hand on Pete’s knee where he’s perching on the arm of the chair she’s sitting in. But there’s something misaligned about them, like cogs in a clock that don’t quite mesh or a piano playing in the wrong key. It’s pretty much what Kerry expected to see and she thinks her initial assessment of Sam’s marriage is accurate; she definitely married the wrong guy. It flatters her sense of professional pride to have read the situation so well from the start.

Once she’s satisfied on that score she turns her attention to the other dynamics in the room. Jack, she realizes, doesn’t talk to Pete unless he absolutely has to, but Pete is prodding Jack with endless questions – mostly about the nature of Jack’s relationship with her. Why Pete should care about that is puzzle piece number two.

Puzzle piece number three is the fact that Jack’s unusually taciturn mood is also directed at Sam. They barely speak all evening, beyond his greeting of _Carter_ and Sam’s formal _Sir._ But whileJack may not be speaking to Sam, he’s certainly looking at her – a lot. Never for very long, but he’s shooting a barrage of fleeting glances in her direction and once Kerry’s noticed that, it doesn’t take her long to realize that Sam is doing exactly the same. 

But it’s when Kerry’s clearing the empty lasagna dish from the table that she sees their fleeting glances collide, their eyes meet. It’s not a long look, but it’s intimate, clandestine and instantly recognizable: it’s a look shared by secret lovers.

And that’s when the puzzle pieces fall into place and Kerry feels like the biggest idiot in the world. 

Maybe Pete sees it too – or perhaps he’s seen that look before – because as she picks up the empty dish and heads, unseeing, into the kitchen she hears him jovially say, “Hey, Sam, you know what’s weird?”

Kerry puts the empty dish in the sink, runs water into it to soak, and tries to gather her tumbling thoughts. She can’t tell if she’s angrier at Jack or Sam – both of them have lied to her. But no, she thinks after a moment, that’s not true. Neither of them actually lied. They just omitted some important truths. 

She looks up over the breakfast bar towards her small dining table. Sam’s head is turned to the side. Jack’s toying with a spoon, tapping it against the edge of the table, eyes down and not looking at her. They both look pretty miserable, Kerry has to admit. Whatever it is between them, they’re not enjoying it.

“What’s weird?” Sam asks Pete.

“I tried to call you last night – at the Residence Inn,” he says, “and they said you hadn’t checked in.” 

Sam stares at him in silence and from the kitchen Kerry can see Jack go still, perfectly still. 

“Yeah,” Pete says. “Weird, huh, Jack? Because I’m sure Sam was there. Where else would she be?”

Kerry grips the countertop hard. She has the horrible feeling that she’s about to watch a train wreck, that something she doesn’t fully understand is about to go boom right before her eyes. 

“Pete—” Sam begins, but Jack cuts her off.

“Carter stayed in Air Force accommodation last night,” he says.

They both look at him: Pete in disbelief, Sam in apprehension. “Why?” Pete finally asks. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a security issue,” Jack says, sitting up straight, setting the spoon down carefully on the table. “I advised Carter to stay in Air Force accommodation last night, rather than in a public hotel.”

Pete stares at him. “What kind of security issue?”

Jack gives a slight shrug. “It’s classified.”

“The hell it is!” Pete objects. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

“Pete, don’t,” Sam says, putting her hand on his arm and shooting an apologetic look at Jack. “Sorry, sir.”

He dismisses her apology with a wave of his hand. “We just didn’t think it was a good idea for her to stay alone in a public hotel.”

Pete’s on his feet, distressed. “Well is she safe now? Here?”

“Sure,” Jack says. “So long as someone’s got her back.”

“But what is it?” he persists. “Aliens or something? I can’t protect her if I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“In my experience,” Jack says, with a quick look at Sam. “Carter doesn’t need protecting.”

“Pete,” Sam says. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just—” She glances at Jack quickly. “It’s no big deal, probably. We just need to get to the bottom of something, that’s all.”

Pete runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”

“There are lots of things I don’t tell you,” Sam says. “Lots of things I _can’t_ tell you.” 

_That_ , Kerry thinks wryly, _is certainly true_.

The water is overflowing her dish, so she turns the faucet off. Jack glances up at her in the sudden silence and she turns away. She can’t look at him right now. 

She opens the fridge, stares at nothing in particular, and closes it again, bustling about in the kitchen, buying time. Behind her she can still hear Pete complaining because Sam didn’t tell him about this security threat and Kerry almost sympathizes with him. Sam’s been less than honest with her too, and put her in an impossible position. Not that Sam knows it, not that Jack does either, but she’s inadvertently become the the keeper of both their secrets.

And the kicker is that she _likes_ them both, which makes this whole situation completely untenable. She can’t be both Sam’s friend and Jack’s sometime lover. In fact, after this, she wonders if she wants to be either. But now is not the moment to upset the apple cart, so she takes a breath, puts on a smile and faces the rest of the evening. 

Now that she understands what’s going on, everything makes more sense – Pete’s antagonism toward Jack (the threat), Jack’s obvious dislike of Pete (the rival), and Sam’s tension around them both (torn between two lovers. Ha!). It’s a horrible, messed-up situation and Kerry’s glad she understands it now so she can extricate herself as soon as humanly possible. Only six months post-divorce, the last thing she wants is to be in the middle of this little soap opera. So much for something fun and uncomplicated!

It feels like an eternity until Sam and Pete leave, but in fact it’s quite early when Pete says, “Well, Mrs. Shanahan, you and me need an early night.”

Kerry watches for Jack’s reaction. His face is pretty unreadable, but under his breath he murmurs, “It’s ‘you and _I’_.”

Sam, on the other hand, looks embarrassed, like she’s biting her tongue, and Kerry wants to tell her to grow a backbone. Mrs. Shanahan? Please. But all Sam says is, “Yeah, I guess it’s getting late.”

The truth is that no one is sorry the evening is over. But they make a good show of parting, nonetheless – Pete thanks Kerry for dinner, Jack deigns to shake Pete’s hand. Kerry hugs Sam, perhaps a little less warmly than usual, while Jack just nods at her and says _Night, Carter_.

Once she’s closed the door behind them Kerry stands staring at it for a moment, gathering her thoughts as the apartment fills with silence. 

Jack touches her shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

She closes her eyes, lets out a long breath. This whole thing makes her sad, but it doesn’t break her heart. “I like you, Jack,” she says.

Behind her, he stops moving. “I’m sensing a but…?”

“But I like Sam too,” she says, turning around. “And right now I’m pretty mad at both of you.”

He’s too smart not to know what she’s talking about and a wince twitches across his face. “Kerry,” he says, but then seems to run out of steam. She’s glad he doesn’t try to make excuses.

“Did you sleep with Sam last night?”

“What? No.” His indignation is honest. “Of course not.”

“But she spent the night with you, right?” She tilts her head, studies him. He looks unhappy, genuinely miserable. 

“In my house,” he admits after a pause. “But only because I couldn’t get any on-base accommodation. And nothing happened, I swear. Nothing’s ever happened.”

That makes her smile; it’s such a military definition of ‘nothing’. “You’re in love with her,” she points out and he flinches, like it’s shameful. “That’s something.”

“I’m talking about regulations.”

Ah, regulations. It’s obvious, when she thinks about it, that Sam’s ‘other guy’ was married to Uncle Sam, not another woman. “So the regulations were the only thing that kept you two apart?” 

He gives a self-conscious shrug and Kerry feels a welling of sympathy – for both him and Sam. “You should have told me,” she says. “I feel like an idiot, just figuring it out like this.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, looking duly remorseful. “The thing is, I’ve just gotten used to keeping it to myself. It’s second nature now. But you’re right, I should have told you.”

“Not just you,” she says. “Sam too.”

“You can’t blame Carter,” he says immediately. “She’s protecting her CO. She’d never tell anyone, she’s too loyal.” He gives a slight, apologetic smile. “It’s a team thing.”

And Kerry has to close her eyes for a moment because, oh my God, does he really not know how Sam feels? She almost says something, but that’s not her secret to tell. 

He touches her arm again, making her look at him. “Let’s go sit down,” he says. “We’ll talk.”

But she shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk. I can’t be in the middle of this, Jack – whatever _this_ is. It’s not what I signed up for.”

“Okay,” he nods, jamming his hands into his pocket. “So…”

“So we’ve had fun and I think we should call it even while we’re still friends.”

He sighs, resigned. “I really like you, Kerry. You know that, right?” 

“I know,” she says. And although she’s still mad, she can’t help feeling sorry for him and reaches up to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Jack O’Neill.”

He immediately pulls her into a hug, holding her tight. He’s a wonderful hugger and her heart twinges; she’ll miss this, miss him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

They stand there like that for a while, her head resting on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you stop her?” she asks eventually. “Why didn’t you stop Sam from marrying Pete?”

“Because it’s what she wanted.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, the movement ruffling her hair. “Why else would she do it?”

Kerry closes her eyes and bites her tongue to keep from saying, _Maybe you should ask her._ Because that’s Sam’s can of worms to open and if she wants to keep it closed then that’s her business. It’s certainly not Kerry’s. So instead she steps back, out of his arms, glad to be escaping relatively unscathed. “I’ll see you around, Jack,” she says. “Maybe I’ll even let you buy me lunch sometime.”

After he’s left, she runs a hot bath, filling it with bubbles. She pours the last of the _Sauvignon Blanc_ into a glass and sits in the bathroom in her robe, letting the aromatic steam seep into her pores. 

Picking up her phone, she wipes condensation from the screen and sends a message to Sam: _For God’s sake tell Jack how you feel and put him out of his misery. This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you, btw._

And then she switches off her phone, strips off her robe, and sinks into the hot, bubbly water and tries not to think about anything.

***

Sometimes, Sam’s ashamed to admit, she has sex with Pete just to put him in a better mood. She doesn’t like manipulating him, but she does it anyway because it’s easier than putting up with his sulks. She never thought she’d be the type of woman who would do that sort of thing and she’s not quite sure how that happened. Nevertheless, after the tensions of the evening she finds herself wrapped in a bathrobe sitting in the living room of their suite at the Radisson, hair still damp from the shower, while Pete sleeps in postcoital insensibility in the huge bed. And she’s glad of the quiet, of the space to think. It’s a pretty good trade off, she figures.

The hotel is near the airport and through the large windows she can see the lights of the planes on approach. It makes her think of escape, of flying far away – of stepping through the Stargate.

These past few weeks have been strange. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s waking up after a long sleep. She thinks about Janet, about how much she misses her, and remembers months of blankness after her mother’s death too. She wonders if there’s a relationship between the two. After she lost her mom the world seemed gray, devoid of joy, and she filled the gap with study and more study. But after she lost Janet work provided no escape; she fell headlong into the search for the Lost City and then the search for a way to save Jack from the Ancient data that had overwritten his mind. So she filled her life with Pete instead, with his enthusiasm for their wedding and their safe and conventional future. A house, a family: it’s what people want, isn’t it? It’s what Pete wants. She’s just not sure it’s what _she_ wants.

Janet would have said, _You should have thought about that before you accepted his ring, honey_. Kerry might say something similar. She wishes one or other of them had been around before the wedding, because she thinks she might have listened to them better than she listened to Daniel.

On the side table, near the window, her phone buzzes softly and then starts flashing. Despite the tense evening, she feels a flutter of anticipation at the thought of a text from Jack. They’ve been texting back and for all day about their silly race to work – which she had won, of course – and who was going to buy whom dinner. She feels guilty at how much she enjoys their exchanges, at how much pleasure it gives her to see a new message from him. She doesn’t pretend not to know why it makes her happy, but she tells herself that it’s okay. Nothing’s ever happened between them and nothing ever will. They’re not doing anything wrong. 

That’s been her line all along, after all. 

She gets to her feet and picks up her phone. There are three messages, one a couple of hours old from Kerry, and two newer ones from Jack. She hesitates and then opens his first message. _Did Kerry call you?_

It’s not what she expects, so she opens the second message which says, _Call me if you can._

Something cold sinks in her stomach and she sits down slowly and opens the message from Kerry. She has to read it twice.

_For God’s sake tell Jack how you feel and put him out of his misery. This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you, btw._

“Oh crap,” she whispers into the silent room. 

She needs to talk to both of them, right now. But she can’t, not here, with Pete asleep practically in the same room. So she dresses quickly, grabs her jacket, and slips out. It’s an airport hotel, so there are always people coming and going and everything is always open. She finds an empty corner of the Business Center, sits down close to the night-dark window, and pulls out her phone. It’s after midnight and she’s hesitant about calling Kerry; she doesn’t want to wake her. Oh God, what if she and Jack are together? She hadn’t even considered that. She hesitates, then hits dial anyway. They can always ignore the phone.

But Kerry’s phone is turned off and Sam doesn’t leave a message because she’s not sure exactly what’s going on, although she has a horrible suspicion. Instead she does what she wanted to do all along – she calls Jack.

He answers instantly. “Carter, hey.”

“Does Kerry know?” Sam says, without preamble. 

She hears him sigh down the line. “Yeah, she guessed. I’m sorry.”

“Oh God, I feel awful,” she says, laying her head back and closing her eyes. “She must hate me.”

“No,” he says. “She’s embarrassed, I guess, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“ _She’s_ embarrassed?” It seems incredible that Kerry could feel embarrassed when Sam was the one dumping all her unresolved feelings about Jack on her, in the full knowledge that Kerry had no idea she was talking about her boyfriend. 

But Jack misunderstands. “Don’t worry,” he says bleakly. “I’m plenty embarrassed too. I shouldn’t have put either of you in this position.” 

“No, I mean _I’m_ embarrassed.” She sits up, frowning. “This isn’t your fault.”

“The hell it isn’t, Carter.” Suddenly he sounds more like General O’Neill than Jack. 

And of course he doesn’t know how much this is her fault because Kerry obviously hasn’t told him what she knows about Sam’s feelings. That’s why she sent the text, because she won’t tell Jack herself, because she’s a good friend. A better friend than Sam deserves. 

She thinks if she’d known Kerry before she married Pete, Kerry might have helped her see the forest for the trees; Kerry’s perceptive and has already deconstructed the truth about her relationships with both Pete and Jack. She thinks she might have listened to Kerry’s advice.

She thinks she should probably listen to it now. 

“Jack,” she says, closing her eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a pause. He’s probably processing her use of his first name. He doesn’t comment on it, just says, “Okay.”

“Not over the phone. Can I come over?”

A beat falls, then “Now?”

It’s crazy, but there’s no better time. Pete won’t miss her unless he wakes up and she’s willing to run that risk. “If it’s okay with you?”

“Sure.” Another pause. “Listen, come in around the back.”

Because of the cops out front, of course. She gets it.

“And take a cab,” he warns. “Not the Metro. For security.”

She smiles faintly at his concern, but mostly all she can think is _What the hell am I doing?_ But there’s no going back now. Kerry’s right; Jack deserves to know how she feels about him.

And _she_ deserves to know why the hell he never tried to stop her from marrying Pete.

***

She leaves a note for Pete with a story about running to the 24-hour pharmacy, just in case he wakes up early. Then she grabs a cab, has it drop her at the corner, walks down the quiet street at the back of Jack’s house and slips in through the gate. The lights are blazing downstairs, flooding from the kitchen onto the deck, and she can see Jack sitting at the table where they’d shared breakfast only that morning.

It feels like days ago.

He’s got his laptop open and looks like he’s working, but she knows him well enough to guess that he’s just distracting himself while he waits for her to show up. She doesn’t make him wait much longer because the warm light is inviting her closer and she feels a sudden, urgent tug to be inside. She takes a breath, gets a grip on the feeling, and heads across the small yard and up onto the deck.

His head lifts as soon as her boots hit the first wooden step and he’s up and opening the kitchen door before she reaches it.

“Hey,” he says, stepping back to let her in. 

She follows without saying anything, he closes the door, and the reality of where she is and what she’s doing feels immense. There’s music playing in the background – it sounds like the radio – and she’s glad for the noise that covers their awkward silence.

He watches her for a moment, then says, “Coffee? It’s decaf.”

Despite the tension, she smiles. “Since when did you drink decaf, sir?”

“Oh,” he says, heading over to the coffee maker, “at this time of night? Since about forty, I guess.”

She smiles again, feels something bloom in the center of her chest as she watches him pour coffee, stir in the cream that she likes but he doesn’t. She wonders why he even has cream, and then remembers Kerry. Her stomach twists uneasily.

“Take a seat,” Jack says as he hands her the mug and nods toward the table.

She does as he says, perching on the edge of the chair opposite his laptop. He sits down too, closes the lid of the computer and picks up his own coffee. “So,” he says, laconic as always, “this is unusual.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” she says. “I hope you’re not busy…”

“Carter, it’s almost one a.m. Why would I be busy?”

She gives a nervous smile which he almost mirrors. “Right,” she says.

After another pause he prompts her with, “You said you wanted to tell me something?” There’s tension in his face, tightness around his eyes, like he’s expecting bad news. 

“It’s nothing bad,” she reassures him. “I mean, I hope not. That is…I don’t really know.”

His eyebrows rise slightly, apprehension escalating. “Just spill it, Carter.”

She nods. “Right,” she says again and then realizes she really should have taken a moment to rehearse. She clears her throat and glances up at him. He looks like he’s seconds away from simply ordering her to talk. “Okay, so you know the other week, at the SGC?”

He looks a little surprised, says a cautious, “Yes…”

“When you came to my lab?”

“Yes.”

“And you said…” She clears her throat. He’s been pretty straightforward with her and she wants to return the favor, but it’s difficult talking about this stuff with him. It’s not something they do. She takes a breath and says, “You told me that you still had feelings for me.”

His eyes narrow, lips forming a straight line. “I also said it wouldn’t be a problem and that we didn’t need to talk about it again.”

“I know,” she says. “But the thing is, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

He licks his lips slightly; the rest of him is motionless. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I should have—” She looks down at her hands, wrapped around her mug. “You see, I should have told you that I feel the same way. Because I can’t stand that you think I don’t, that you think I ever stopped feeling that way.”

She glances up and he’s just staring at her. He looks utterly dumbstruck, literally speechless. 

“Okay,” she says, her guts knotting. “You’re surprised. Maybe I shouldn’t have…I mean, I know it’s impossible. We shouldn’t—that is, we _can’t_. I’m married and you’re still the general and—”

“Carter,” he says, slicing through her blather. “I don’t understand.”

She blows out a jittery breath. “Really? It’s not that complicated, sir.”

Very deliberately he sets his mug down, sits up straight in his chair. Every movement looks planned, controlled. “It sounds to me,” he says, in that same measured manner, “that you’re saying you have ‘feelings’ for me, and that you had these feelings when you got married – to _someone else_.”

There’s something off in his tone. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but he sounds brittle, like he’s on the edge of anger. She moistens her lips, holds his gaze. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

He turns his head away, and then looks back at her. “Well that begs the question, what the _hell_ were you thinking?” 

There’s a flare of anger in his eyes that she knows well, but didn’t expect to see tonight. It tweaks her latent frustration. “I was thinking,” she snaps, “that you might have actually _told me_ how you felt. You know, _before_ the wedding? Not after, when it was too late.”

He stares at her, jams his hands into his hair for a moment, like he’s trying hard to keep everything together. “Christ,” he snarls, and then gets to his feet and stalks across the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she persists, chasing him with her words. “If you’d just told me—”

“I _did_ tell you!” he explodes, turning back to face her. “I sat there and told you I’d rather _die_ than lose you. Or did you forget that? Did that whole fucking mess slip your mind?”

It feels like a slap, his anger, and she reacts in kind. “The za’tarc thing? Give me a break.”

“What?” 

“It was four years ago!” she exclaims. “Under duress, with an alien mind probe stuck to your head. Are you serious?”

“Yes, _Colonel_ ,” he barks, emphasis on her rank. “Because that was the _only time_ I was allowed to say it!”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Four years of nothing,” she says, “of being ‘one of the guys’. How could you possibly expect me to think nothing had changed?”

“Because I thought you knew me!” He takes a breath, fixes her with a hard look and in a more measured voice says, “I thought you _trusted_ me.” 

“That’s not fair. I’ve always trusted you.”

“Yet apparently not with this.”

“You’re not being fair! Four years—” 

“Is nothing!” he barks. “What’s four years? Or ten? Or twenty? Carter, if you think a couple years would make _any_ difference to how I—” He breaks off with a scowl. “You _know_ what loyalty means to me, Carter. I can’t believe you just gave up.” 

“I didn’t give up,” she snaps. “I tried to talk to you, but you shut me down – every time. And when I started dating Pete? Nothing. Not a word. Not even when I showed you the damn ring! What was I supposed to think?”

He flings his hands up in frustration. “I was your commanding officer!”

“Oh, don’t give me that regulations crap. If you’d wanted to, you could have said _something._ ” 

“God, Carter,” he says, breathing hard. “I thought you _loved_ him. I thought you’d _chosen him_.”

“You didn’t even try to change my mind.”

“No I didn’t,” he retorts bitterly. “Because I respected your choice. It never occurred to me you’d marry someone you didn’t want just because you got tired of waiting.” 

The accusation hangs between them, seems to echo around the kitchen. Embarrassed and angry she says, “I never said I didn’t want him.” 

“So what’s the point of all this?” he says, gesturing between them with a weary wave of his arm. “Why are you even here?”

It takes a moment to clarify her thoughts, to try and parse the truth from the cacophony of confused feelings. “I guess I just want you to know,” she says at last. “I don’t want you to feel like I abandoned you.”

He turns away, scrubs a hand over his face. “Ironic, because that’s _exactly_ what it feels like.”

“Jack—”

“I understood you falling for someone else,” he says, wheeling back to face her. “I got that. But this?” He’s bristling with anger, with disappointment. “I’d have _died_ before I left you, and I thought—” He bites off his words, shakes his head. “Guess I was wrong about you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he shoots back, all hard edges and belligerence.

It’s not fair, yet his disappointment still hurts like nothing else. It hurts so much she feels tears prick her eyes, but she’ll be damned if she lets him see her cry. “Fine,” she says in a voice cold and level. “Then there’s nothing else to say.”

He proves her point by glaring tight-lipped at the floor in silence and she turns away. Her vision is blurring by the time she gets to the kitchen door, but she won’t let the tears fall until she’s outside. She reaches for the handle.

“Sam, wait,” he says tiredly.

She ignores him, opens the door. “Goodnight, sir.” And then she’s outside, scrubbing the tears from her face as she crosses the deck, runs down the steps.

“Carter...” He’s right behind her, trying to shout quietly from the kitchen door. “Carter, wait, how are you getting back?”

She doesn’t turn around, because then he’d see she was crying. So she just keeps walking across the yard, out the back gate, heading for the Metro. She allows herself a couple of stifled sobs, because better here than in the Metro or back at the hotel, and then it’s over and she’s wiping her face dry and gulping in deep, steadying breaths.

_Eyes front_ , her dad would say. _Don’t look back_.

So she doesn’t and she won’t. Never again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter five: _Fallout_ up tomorrow!


	5. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the fact that Jack has randomly shown up at his apartment at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning hadn’t been evidence of trouble, the look on his face when Daniel opens the door is enough to convince him.

It should be perfect, strolling along next to the reflecting pool hand in hand with Sam. The afternoon is warm and humid, but the sun is shining and there’s a happy buzz of tourists everywhere. It should be fun.

But Sam’s distracted; she’s been distracted all day. Pete wonders if this mysterious security problem is bugging her, but she says it’s not and still refuses to tell him what it’s all about. He tries not to let that bother him, that she keeps these secrets. He understands about confidentiality, it’s not like his work is so different from hers, but he thinks she could waive the rules when it comes to her husband. After all, he knows about the Stargate and what could be a bigger secret than that?

Sometimes, he wonders if she enjoys keeping secrets. 

“Let’s get some frozen lemonade,” he says, spotting a stand in the shade of the trees.

“Sure,” Sam says. “Why not?”

He leaves her sitting on a bench beneath a tree while he lines up at the stand and buys them a cup each. He can see her while he waits in line, sees her slip her phone out of her purse and check it for messages. It’s like a nervous tic, Sam’s compulsion to check her phone. He thinks, if the world was really ending, they’d probably call her, not text. Even so, she can’t leave it alone.

It doesn’t look like there are any messages, thankfully, because she puts it away again and sits there staring out over the sunny grass. She looks pensive, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses and the wide-brimmed hat he’d packed for her. 

She’s as beautiful as always – breathtaking, in fact – and he watches a guy take a long second glance as he walks past her. _Yeah, keep on walking, pal!_ he wants to yell. But Sam doesn’t even seem to notice, which makes him happy. He loves that she’s beautiful, but he doesn’t love how other men look at her.

Especially O’Neill.

Oh, he thinks he can hide it, but Pete’s not stupid. He’s pretty certain that O’Neill and Sam had some kind of thing in the past. He thinks that’s why O’Neill doesn’t like him and it gives him a beat of pleasure to imagine O’Neill’s frustration at seeing Sam married to a man who has to be at least fifteen years his junior. 

Kerry Johnson’s pretty hot, though, so maybe that will keep O’Neill’s eyes off Sam? He just wishes Sam was less loyal to her old CO. But he learned early on in their relationship that any kind of criticism of her team caused trouble, and that bothers him too. Sometimes it feels like they’re more important to her than he is.

Rejoining her, he hands over her frozen lemonade and sits next to her on the bench while they eat.

“So what should we do tonight?” he says, relishing the cold, lemony zing.

“Actually,” Sam says, “I’m pretty beat. I could do with an early night.” 

He wishes she meant a euphemistic ‘early night’, but he thinks she’s being literal. Which is disappointing. “You know what?” he says, and he can’t help feeling bitter, “I’m beginning to think this weekend was a mistake.”

She looks at him. “No. It’s just been a long week, you know? I’m tired.”

“You’ve been quiet all day, Sam,” he says. “I thought you’d like this. I thought you wanted to spend the weekend here, but it’s like your mind’s somewhere else entirely.”

She looks guilty and says, “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been distracted. I’ve just – I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Don’t we all?” he says. “But some of us share our worries with our spouses.” When she doesn’t answer he says, “Is it this security issue, Sam?”

After a pause she quietly confesses the truth. “Yeah,” she says, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “I guess it is.”

“I wish you’d tell me what it’s about.”

Another pause, and then she says, “General—” She clears her throat. “The general has some concerns about me being of interest to certain unscrupulous tech companies. Something happened a few years back – I was targeted because of what I know – and he’s concerned that it could happen again. There was some evidence that I might be under observation, that’s all.”

He feels a rush of pleasure that she’s trusted him with this and puts his hand on her knee, squeezing her leg. “I’ll always protect you, Sam,” he promises. “If anyone tries anything, they’ll have to come through me first.”

A slight smile touches her lips as she looks down at his hand on her knee. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s good to know.”

“I mean it,” he says, and after a moment’s thought adds, “Maybe I should get a personal firearm to keep at home?”

Sam shakes her head. “That’s not necessary.”

“I’m not so sure, honey. I mean if people are going to target you, I need a way to protect you.”

“Pete, it’s fine,” she says. “I promise.”

“No, the more I think about it the more I think I should—”

“Pete, I have a gun,” she says. “I have a personal firearm at home.”

He blinks at her. “At our home?”

“Yes.”

He can’t believe this. He can’t believe he didn’t know this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s mine,” she says. “For me to use, if and when the circumstances require – which is hopefully never.”

“Oh,” he says, embarrassed and angry, “I get it. You’re going to be protecting me when the bad guys show up?”

She stares at him for a moment and there’s a flash of fire in her eyes when she says, “Why not?”

“Well, because I’m a cop and—”

“And I’m a colonel in the United States Air Force,” she snaps. “With a decade of frontline service. So tell me, do you really think I need anyone to get between me and the ‘bad guys’?” With that, she gets up and stalks away.

He’s after her in a heartbeat. “Sam, what the hell is this?”

She shakes her head and keeps walking.

“Sam!” He grabs her arm, stops her. “This isn’t fair.”

She shakes her head again and he’s shocked to see tears in her eyes. “Sorry,” she says, trying and failing to hold her emotions inside. “I’m just—” Another shake of her head. “Sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

“No,” he agrees, but after a moment he puts his arms around her anyway. “Nothing I do ever seems to be right for you,” he sighs. “I just wanted you to be happy this weekend, Sam. I was trying to do something special for you.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, dropping her forehead against his shoulder. “I know. This isn’t you, Pete. It’s me.”

“Because of this security problem?” he asks, doubtfully.

“I’m just really tense.” 

“You know, if you’d told me about it, Sam, I wouldn’t have planned this weekend.” He strokes his hand along her arm, soothing her. “There’s a lesson to be learned there, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she says against his shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Holding her tighter he whispers, “It’s okay, honey. You’re forgiven.”

He doesn’t know why that makes her cry all the harder.

***

One of the advantages of the current slowdown at the SGC is the fact that Daniel gets to have weekends. He hasn’t had weekends in years, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoys them. It’s not just having time off; it’s having time off when most everyone else has time off too. It’s that sense of communal enjoyment, of deluding yourself that everyone in the world is enjoying a lazy Sunday morning of coffee, bagels, and the paper.

He stretches out on his sofa, enjoyably dozy in the sunshine, and is more than a little peeved when his phone rings. He’s tempted to ignore it in case it’s work, but if it _is_ work he almost certainly needs to take it: Catch Twenty-Two. With a sigh, he digs his phone out of his coat pocket and is surprised when he sees the caller ID. 

“Jack?”

“Daniel.”

“Well this is unusual,” he says, dropping back onto the sofa and reaching for his coffee. “How are you?”

“I’m, ah—” There’s a pause, then, “I was thinking I might come see you some time.”

Daniel sits up a little straighter. “Okay,” he says. “Sure, you know you’re always welcome. Ah, when did you have in mind? I’m pretty free most weekends these days so—”

“How about now?” Jack says.

“Now?”

The doorbell rings and Daniel sighs, pads across his apartment and presses the intercom button. “Jack?”

“If you’re not busy, that is?” 

He gets Jack’s voice in stereo, over the intercom and through his phone. He doesn’t answer either, just buzzes Jack in and goes into the kitchen to make more coffee. He has a feeling he’s going to need it.

If the fact that Jack has randomly shown up at his apartment at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning hadn’t been evidence of trouble, the look on his face when Daniel opens the door is enough to convince him. 

“What happened?” he says immediately.

Jack favors him with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “Good to see you too, Daniel. How’ve you been?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, he shuts the door behind Jack and says, “You look like the world just ended. Clearly it hasn’t, so…what happened?”

“You got any more coffee?”

Daniel hands him the mug he’s holding. “This is yours,” he says and precedes Jack into the living room. “Have you eaten? Where are you even staying?”

“No, and in my house.”

“I thought you’d rented it out?”

“Not yet,” he says. “There’s no food there, though.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Daniel says, and leaves Jack to slump on the sofa while he heads into the kitchen to rustle up breakfast. He can still see Jack, though, and he feels a surge of real concern at the grim lines and angles of his face. 

Returning to the living room, Daniel sets a plate of pastries on the coffee table next to his bagels and retreats to his favorite chair. “You’re making me nervous, Jack.”

“Sorry,” he says, reaching for a croissant and starting to slowly pull it apart. Then his breath leaves him in a sudden rush and his eyes fix on his hands. “So, something happened.”

“I figured.”

“With Carter.” 

Daniel doesn’t comment. He kind of wants to say _Finally!_ but it’s clearly not appropriate.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jack says, continuing his slow evisceration of the pastry. “I screwed up and I have no idea what to do.”

Daniel waits and when it’s clear Jack’s not going to elaborate, Daniel says, “Did you sleep with her?” 

“No!” Jack’s head snaps up. “Why do people always ask that?”

Daniel decides answering that question might not be entirely productive, so instead he says, “Tell me what happened.”

Jack looks like he can’t quite believe the words he’s about to speak. “Carter told me she wouldn’t have married Shanahan if she’d known that I still...” He clears his throat. “She said she still has ‘feelings’ for me.” 

“Oh,” Daniel says, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air in vicarious victory. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jack glowers at him.

Swiftly moving on, Daniel says, “And what did you say?” The glower turns into a wince and Daniel feels his heart sink. “Jack?”

“I…may have lost my temper.”

“What? Why?”

“ _Why_?” He’s on his feet suddenly, pacing. “Because she gave up, Daniel. She just gave up on me. And then I had to sit there and watch her marry that asshole. Do you have _any_ idea how that made me feel?”

“Oh, some,” he says, deliberately making the words bitter. 

He sees the moment Jack understands him, sees the jolt of realization penetrate his anger. “Right,” Jack says abruptly. “I know this isn’t the same.”

“The same as watching your wife enslaved and forced to bear the child of a monster? No, it’s not the same.” 

Jack’s anger deflates and he drops back onto the sofa. This time his head sinks into his hands. “I’m being an ass about this whole thing.”

Daniel doesn’t comment, he just repeats, “Tell me what happened.”

Jack’s silent for a while, head still in his hands, coffee cooling on the table. “I hurt her,” he says eventually, his voice scratchy and uneven. “I was angry and I hurt her.”

Daniel rubs his hands over his face, aching for both his friends. This is not the Sunday morning he was anticipating. “When?”

“Thursday night, at my house.”

“Here?”

“In DC.”

Daniel lets a beat fall, but it’s not enough to keep him from saying, “Sam was at your house in DC?”

Jack sits up, wipes a surreptitious hand under one eye. “It’s a long story.”

He decides to let that slide for now and focus on the important point, “What did you say to her?”

“Enough to make her cry.”

It takes him a moment to absorb the pain of that before he says, “And you haven’t seen her since? Or spoken to her?”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

They sit in silence for a while, Daniel watching Jack and then getting up and pacing over to the window. Outside he can see the city and beyond it the great rise of the mountains, their peaks still touched with snow. He has a sudden desire to be up there in the cool clean air, and not here amid the morass of Jack’s guilt and confusion. But here is where he is, and so he says, “I guess, on the plus side, now you both know where you stand.”

“She’s married,” Jack says quietly. “That hasn’t changed.”

Daniel keeps looking out the window as he says, “You know her marriage to Pete is a mistake. Everyone can see it. Everyone could see it before the wedding.”

“Everyone but me.”

Daniel turns to look at him. “I think you knew,” he says. “You just didn’t trust your instincts.”

Jack just accepts that with a shrug.

“The question is,” Daniel says, “what now?”

Jack spreads his hands. “You should talk to her.”

“No. You should.”

He shakes his head. “That’s what got me into this mess.”

Daniel can’t help laughing. “ _Not_ talking is what got you into this mess, Jack. And talking is the only way out of it.”

Jack gives him a long, serious look and Daniel can almost see him building walls. “I accused her of giving up,” he says. “I told her she wasn’t the person I thought she was.”

And that was a surgical strike, precisely calculated to hurt. “Did you mean it?”

“At the time. I was angry.”

“And now?”

He shakes his head. “She just gave up, Daniel. That’s not the Carter I know.”

“Actually,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about that for a while – since the wedding – and none of this is the Sam we know, is it?”

Jack eyes him warily, as if he doesn’t want to agree too fervently. “What do you mean ‘none of this’?”

“Her whole relationship with Pete,” he says. “I mean, the wedding was…odd, don’t you think? It felt like it had been ordered from a catalogue or something. It didn’t feel like _Sam_. And since when has her idea of a good time involved a cruise? Or home improvement?”

Jack’s silent for a moment, lost in thought. Eventually he says, “This is the woman who used to take naquadah reactors apart for fun, who used to spend her downtime working on her bike, or riding it too fast up into the mountains…” 

“Who didn’t own bowls because she was too busy to buy them and ate take-out straight from the carton.”

Jack says, “People do change, you know, especially when they’re ready to settle down.”

“True,” Daniel admits, “people’s priorities change. But when someone starts acting odd, I mean really out of character, there’s usually a reason.”

Jack lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you think Carter’s a Goa’uld.”

Ignoring the humorless joke, Daniel lets his gaze drift back to the mountains, imagining he can see the Cheyenne complex somewhere among them. There’s a whole galaxy out there and yet sometimes it’s so easy to feel like the universe revolves around your own small miseries. “Jack,” he says, “have you considered that none of this is actually about you?”

He hears Jack stop moving, the way he does when he’s listening for an enemy to approach. “What do you mean?”

“I was eight when my parents died,” Daniel says. “My dad was thirty. He was a respected archaeologist, making discoveries and making a difference. When I hit thirty I thought, ‘I should be making a difference by now, I should be making discoveries.’ But I wasn’t, so I published a crazy paper about aliens using the Giza Pyramids as landing platforms. All my friends and colleagues thought I’d gone nuts – literally. They thought I was having a breakdown, that I’d actually lost my mind.”

“But you were right,” Jack points out.

“Eventually, but at the time I lost all my research grants, I lost my apartment. In retrospect it was a reckless, counterproductive decision. It wasn’t like me.” He turns and looks at Jack. “My whole life I’d looked up to my dad, I’d idolized him and wanted to be like him. Then I got to the age he was when he died, and I wasn’t him. And suddenly I didn’t know where I was going anymore. It was like the map had run out and I was floundering. I didn’t know which way to go.” 

Jack is wearing the deadpan look he gets when he’s playing dumb. “Your point?”

“Think about it,” he says. “Sam’s about the age her mom was when she died. And suddenly she’s marrying a guy she’s barely known a year – a guy, incidentally, who’s almost entirely excluded from her professional life. She’s transferring away from the SGC and spending the weekend painting her white picket fence instead of working on her bike. Does that sound like Sam to you?” 

He sees the way Jack’s shoulders rise and fall, the way he rubs a hand across his mouth. “You think this has something to do with her mom?”

Daniel shrugs. “Maybe. Also, Janet.”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s been trying to support Cassie as well. That’s been hard on her, and maybe Pete was around to give her the emotional support she needed.”

“And I wasn’t?” 

“Well, for a number of months you were in an Ancient stasis pod in Antarctica,” Daniel points out as he walks back to his chair. “That was really tough on Sam.”

“It was no picnic for me, either.”

“The point is,” Daniel says, “you weren’t here. And, to be honest, you’ve been a little distant since you got back – since you left SG-1, actually.” 

“Says who?”

“It’s not an accusation,” Daniel assures him. “We’ve all been grieving in our own ways, Jack – for both Janet and SG-1.”

Something dark crosses Jack’s face, a shadow or a memory. “And you think I’ve been distant? Withdrawn?” He makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘Emotionally unavailable’?”

Daniel surmises he’s heard it all before, and he can guess when, so he simply says, “It’s been a tough year or so. And maybe Sam was looking for something you couldn’t give her.”

Jack goes silent, lost in thought for a long while, and then he recollects himself and stands up. “I have to go,” he says.

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought maybe we could grab lunch.”

“I have to get back to DC. I’m trying to catch a Space-A flight this afternoon so I should head out to Peterson.”

“They don’t reserve a seat for the Head of Homeworld Security?”

He gives a faint smile. “Only on official business.”

Daniel stands up too, trailing Jack to the door. “Don’t tell me you came all this way just to talk to me.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, stopping at the door and turning around, “Why? Who else am I gonna talk to?”

“Okay,” Daniel nods, processing the fact. “I’m flattered, I think.”

“Not that you’ve been very helpful,” he grumbles. “I still don’t know what to do.”

“Yes you do,” Daniel says. “You just don’t want to do it.”

Jack doesn’t answer that, probably because he knows it’s the truth. 

***

Sam runs.

The beat of her feet against the morning-cool asphalt, her sweat wicked away by the desert breeze, the fire in her lungs and legs: they all help keep her from thinking about the day ahead.

The light is sharp this early, clear as the air, and even through her dark glasses she feels like she can see farther than ever. Not just out across the flat expanse of the base where she’s running, but back across the expanse of her life. All the decision points that led her here, all the choices and forks in the road are clear to see in this crystalline morning light.

She sees them as if from above, ponders each twist and turn, but she can’t regret any of her choices. They were all honestly made and she won’t shy away from the path she’s chosen. No matter what Jack O’Neill might think, Sam Carter does not give up.

So she runs until her lungs scream and then she keeps on running just to prove that she can.

By the time she reaches the block that houses her quarters, the sun is far enough over the horizon that the air is starting to thicken with heat. Her legs are shaky and the blood rings in her ears, but she makes herself keep running until she passes into the shade cast by the building and only then does she slow to a walk, sucking in air and trying to drive away the spots dancing before her eyes.

She wipes her hands over her face, tugging off her sunglasses, raking fingers through sweaty hair. 

At the entrance, she can see a figure in the morning shadows – a glint of sunglasses as they turn toward her. With a lurch of her stomach, she recognizes Kerry Johnson.

Sam almost trips, her feet stumbling as if trying to stop without her mind’s consent, but she forces herself onward. It’s obvious that Kerry is waiting for her. It makes sense because they have a briefing today and Sam guesses that, like her, Kerry wants to have their first meeting in private.

She feels a tug of dread and real regret at losing this friendship – and a huge surge of guilt. Kerry’s seen her now and is walking toward her slowly. She looks like she just got up, so she must have flown in last night. Sam had been expecting her to arrive that morning and had planned to meet her flight and talk with her privately before the briefing.

They’re close enough to talk now and Kerry stops walking. “You do know,” she says, “that there’s an air-conditioned gym inside, right?”

Sam stops too, so there are a few feet of no man’s land between them. “I like to be outside,” she says. “Clears the cobwebs.”

“Figures,” Kerry says.

Silence settles around them, awkward and uncomfortable. “Kerry,” Sam says eventually, taking a step into no man’s land, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Her friend cocks her hip, one hand propped on it. “I won’t lie,” she says. “I felt like a complete idiot.”

“I understand,” she says. “But you do know why I couldn’t say anything?” She runs a hand over her face; she’s dripping with sweat. “Any suggestion of an unprofessional relationship could have ended his career. It still could.”

Kerry smiles; Sam recognizes the wry expression. “Funny,” Kerry says. “Jack said the same thing about your career.”

Sam absorbs that without comment, because this isn’t about Jack O’Neill. It’s about her and Kerry. “At first I didn’t know you were dating him,” Sam reminds her. “If I had, I would never have…” She gestures between them. “I’d have kept my distance, obviously. But by the time I found out, we were already friends and I—well, I liked having you as a friend. I didn’t want to give that up.”

“Liked?” she says. “Past tense?”

“I’d understand totally if you wanted to let it drop.”

Kerry studies her, tipping her head to the side as if to get a clearer view. “Do you know that Jack and I aren’t seeing each other anymore?”

“No.” Sam pushes her damp hair off her face. “I mean, I kind of figured from your text, but I didn’t know for sure.”

“The thing is, I really like Jack,” Kerry says, “and I really like you, too, despite everything. So I figured I had a choice.” She gives a slight, self-effacing roll of her eyes. “Jack and I were never going anywhere. We both knew that. But you and me?” She lifts an eyebrow. “I think we can be friends, real friends.”

An unexpected surge of emotion takes Sam by surprise. She hadn’t been expecting such unconditional forgiveness. “I’d really like—” She has to press a hand over her mouth to keep herself in check. “Sorry.” 

“Hey,” Kerry says in concern, moving closer. “Sam…”

“Damn it,” she sniffs again, wiping her face – now an unseemly mix of tears and sweat. “God, it’s been such a horrible weekend.”

Kerry makes to hug her, and then checks herself. “Um…”

“Yeah, don’t,” Sam laughs through her tears. “I’m all sweaty and gross.”

Kerry smiles. “Maybe later? You look like you need a hug.”

She nods, because that’s _exactly_ what she needs, but she can’t answer because Kerry’s kind words have punched a hole in the dam she’s been building since that awful scene at Jack’s house and she can’t seem to plug the gap. 

Kerry’s hand touches her arm, squeezing. “Did you have a fight with Pete?”

She shakes her head. “With Jack.”

“With Jack? Why?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, scrubbing at her face again. “The whole situation.”

From the entrance behind Kerry, a couple of junior officers emerge, heading for their duty shift and reminding Sam of where exactly they are. Kerry glances over her shoulder and is obviously thinking the same thing because she lowers her voice and says, “Sam, I know it’s a mess right now, but you can sort it out. You guys—” She shakes her head. “I saw you together for, what, half an evening? And I _knew_. Don’t give up on it.”

It’s not Kerry’s fault that her words sting, and Sam swallows a flare of guilty anger. “I’m not giving up,” she says quietly, following the progress of the airmen with her eyes. “He just doesn’t like me much right now.”

Kerry looks nonplussed, then folds her arms and shakes her head. “Bullshit. He said that?”

“He can’t forgive me for marrying Pete. He thinks I gave up on him.”

Understanding dawns on Kerry’s face, turning her confusion into a dry smile. “You told him how you feel?”

“I tried to.”

“And then he got mad.” 

She nods. 

“It’s deflection,” Kerry says simply. “You scared the crap out of him and he doesn’t know what to do next. It’s a pretty typical response from his personality type.”

“His personality type?”

Kerry shrugs, smiles. “CIA,” she says, “I can’t help myself. I’m trained to spot this stuff. But trust me, whatever he said to you, he almost certainly didn’t mean it.”

Sam’s not so sure. She knows, better than almost anyone, the value he places on loyalty. She’d seen firsthand the grudge he bore the man he blamed for leaving him behind in Iraq. For years, he’d nursed that grievance and she’s sure her own perceived betrayal would rank pretty high on Jack O’Neill’s list of unforgivable sins.

“Look,” Kerry says, when Sam doesn’t respond, “we’ll talk about it later, if you like?”

Sam nods, although she’s not sure there’s any point in talking about it. She’s still married to Pete and she’s no more likely to quit on her marriage than she is on anything else. But she appreciates Kerry’s kindness, her forgiveness, so intensely that she simply says, “Yeah, okay. And Kerry? Thank you. I really thought I’d screwed this up too.”

“Honey,” Kerry says, “buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”

They head their separate ways, Kerry toward the guest quarters and Sam toward her private quarters, but a moment later Kerry calls over her shoulder.

“Sam?”

She turns, squinting in the sunlight.

“My best guess is ISTP, if you’re curious.” At Sam’s blank look she adds, “General O’Neill’s personality type.”

Sam swallows her smile and doesn’t answer, but she does google the term once she’s showered, and she thinks Kerry’s probably got it right. 

***

One of the worst things about the nine-to-five, aside from having to wear his blues every day, is Monday morning.

He hates it with a passion. In fact, one of the many reasons he joined the military in the first place was to avoid sitting in an office on Monday morning. Yet here he is…

“Coffee, sir?” Liu says, poking her head into his office.

“You don’t have to get me coffee,” he tells her. Not for the first time. 

She nods. “I’m going anyway.”

“Dunkin’ Donuts?”

A smile. “Yes, sir.”

He reaches for his wallet, but she waves it away. “I got it, General.”

“No,” he says, beckoning her inside, “I need high-fat, high-sugar junk food this morning, Major. Ring-shaped.” He hands her a twenty. “Donuts all round. Pun intended, naturally.”

He can see her eyeing the money, probably trying to work out how many hours on the elliptical she’ll need to do to burn off the calories. He could tell her she’s young and in good shape and doesn’t need to worry for another decade or two, but generals can’t say that kind of thing to young majors so he just waves the bill until she takes it. “Thank you, Major. Now where am I this morning?”

“Budget meeting this morning, sir,” she says, off the top of her head. “And the Air Force Chief of Staff this afternoon. Oh, and Agent Barrett called and wants half an hour with you, regarding a security matter.”

He nods, because it’s second nature not to react to anything that touches on Carter. Especially when his feelings are as raw and unsettled as they have been since Thursday night. “That’s a priority,” is all he says. “As soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” and she’s gone with a crisp efficiency that reminds him of Captain Carter, as was. 

He sighs and tries to push the thought aside, but there are too many others crowding in for it to make much of a difference – the most distracting of which is that fragment of memory lodged in his mind of Sam leaving, one hand dashing across her face, trying to hide how much he’d hurt her.

Even here, it has the power to stop him, and his eyes stray to his phone. He wants to call, or text, but still hasn’t figured out how to respond to her declaration of, _I care about you, I never stopped caring about you, but now I’m married to someone else so I guess that’s that_.

He’d handled the sharp sense of loss when he thought she’d moved on, but he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that the only thing standing between them now is the marriage he could have prevented if only he’d been more open about how he felt.

He picks up the phone, scrolls through the texts they’ve exchanged, just as he’s done constantly this past weekend, but there’s nothing new from her and nothing new from him. 

For the umpteenth time he types, _Sorry_ , and then deletes it. 

_I don’t know what to do_ , he tries and deletes that too.

Then, in rapid succession, deleting each one as he goes, _Call me, I miss you, Tell me what to do. Leave him._

He throws his phone back onto his desk in disgust. He should just pick the damn thing up and call her, except he still wouldn’t know what to say and maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. Married is married.

Liu gets back with the coffee and donuts and tells him that Barrett can meet him at eleven thirty. The sugar and caffeine get him halfway through the budget meeting. Anticipating what Barrett might have to report keeps him awake for the rest.

Barrett’s already waiting for him when he gets back to his office and the serious look on his face tells Jack that he has news. He feels something tighten across his chest at the thought that Carter’s in danger.

“Agent Barrett,” he says, closing the door behind him. 

“General O’Neill,” Barrett says, standing up.

Taking his seat behind his desk, Jack nods to the file in Barrett’s hands. “News?”

Barrett’s lips press together, his brow beetles as he sits. “Yes sir.”

“From the top then,” Jack suggests, picking up a pen to keep from grabbing the report out of Barrett’s hands. 

“Yes sir. Well, we’ve tracked the ID of the FBI agent who conducted the illegal background check on Colonel Carter. It’s a man called Dave Farrity. Special Agent Dave Farrity.”

“FBI and…?” Jack prompts. “I assume he’s in someone else’s pocket.”

Barrett looks uncomfortable, rubs a hand across his mouth. “We looked into his background, sir, and he’s clean. So we talked to him, under caution. He, uh, confessed to running the unauthorized check as a favor for a friend.”

“What friend?”

Barrett takes a breath. “Actually, General, this is where it gets kinda awkward. Farrity claims that he ran the check on behalf of Peter Shanahan.”

Jack stares. He can’t believe what he’s just heard. “Shanahan?”

“He’s Colonel Carter’s husband, sir.”

“Yeah. I know.” He gestures for the file Barrett’s holding. “Show me.”

The dates are all there, and thinking back it fits in with when Carter first started seeing the guy. It also fits in with the time Shanahan crashed the operation to capture Osiris and simultaneously got himself shot and read into the Stargate program. “Sonofabitch,” Jack mutters under his breath.

“My thoughts exactly, sir.” After a pause, Barrett adds, “It doesn’t look like there’s any kind of threat to the colonel, sir, but both Shanahan and Farrity have committed an offense.”

“Consequences?”

“Probably just a reprimand.” Barrett shifts in his chair and says, “Would you like me to brief Colonel Carter?”

Jack lets that scenario run through his mind, imagines Carter sitting there as Barrett tells her that her husband abused his office to run an unauthorized background check on her. He can picture her embarrassment and disbelief and knows that she has to hear it from a friend. “No,” he says, closing the file and keeping his hand on it. “Leave it with me.”

“You’ll brief her?”

“Yeah, but it would be helpful if you were in the building in case she wants to talk to you too. I’ll ask Major Lee to set it up.”

“Okay,” Barrett agrees. Then he shakes his head and sighs, “I can’t imagine the kind of man who’d do that.”

Jack lifts an eyebrow. “Can’t you?”

He answers with a shrug. “Yeah, maybe I can.” He gets to his feet, “General, give Colonel Carter my best when you see her, sir.”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry it turned out like this,” he says. “In a way, it would have been better for the colonel if was some guy like Conrad.”

“I think,” Jack says, reining in his outrage, “that it’s a shame she didn’t know about this sooner.”

“Yes sir. I’ll contact Agent Johnson and go over our protocols to make sure this kind of oversight couldn’t happen again.”

Jack nods. “You do that, Barrett.”

After he’s gone, Jack calls Liu into his office. “I need a meeting with Colonel Carter,” he says, “ASAP.”

Liu nods. “Here, sir?”

“Yeah, a quiet room. Somewhere off the beaten track. And I need Agent Barrett in the building, but not in the meeting.”

“Yes sir,” Liu says, noting it down. “What should I tell Colonel Carter the meeting’s regarding?”

He considers that. “Tell her it’s regarding the security issue Agent Barrett raised. And Captain,” he adds as Liu turns to leave, “tell her there are no concerns about her personal safety.”

Liu’s eyebrows rise but she’s discreet and makes no comment. “Yes sir, I’ll get right on it.”

It’s only once she’s gone and he’s alone in his office that Jack has time to think about what this might mean for Sam. He can’t help feeling a pulse of vindication now that Shanahan has been revealed as a certifiable douchebag, but that slight pleasure is quickly overwhelmed by the thought of how much it’s going to shock and hurt Carter. He wishes he didn’t have to be the one to tell her, but there’s no one else – except, maybe, Daniel – that he’d trust with the job. And Daniel’s in Colorado.

It won’t be the worst news he’s had to break, but it’ll be hard for Carter to hear and consequently for him to witness. He feels a fresh surge of fury at Shanahan, and that rouses a skulking sense of guilt. Sam deserves so much better and he should have had her back on this, as on everything else.

Stirred up by self-reproach, Daniel’s words come back to him suddenly. _We’ve all been grieving in our own ways, Jack…maybe Sam was looking for something you couldn’t give her._

It wouldn’t be the first time grief had closed him down, cut him off from the world and from the people around him. It wouldn’t be the first time his emotional absence had driven away the woman he loved. 

Daniel’s right; he hasn’t always been there for Sam. He distanced himself so much in the wake of Fraiser’s death, his promotion out of SG-1, and her burgeoning relationship with Shanahan, that even when she’d shown him the ring, opened up and asked for his advice, he hadn’t been able to see what she needed.

And now here he is, faced with the prospect of telling her that the guy she married – a guy he never liked, but never had the guts to talk to her about – has so little respect for her that he’d abuse his position as a police officer in order to investigate her past. And who knows if it stopped there. How did he know about the Osiris operation? Had he been following her? Does he still follow her?

Jack’s fingers curl into a fist but he resists the urge to punch something, mostly because his office has glass walls and he has a meeting with General Jumper in less than twenty minutes; it’s never a good idea to meet the Chief of Staff of the Air Force with blood on your knuckles. So he locks down his anger, gets to his feet, and spends the ten-minute walk to the general’s office figuring out exactly how he’s going to break this news to Carter.

***

Sam feels like she’s living in the air somewhere over the Midwest. It’s ironic that she used to cross the galaxy in a single step and now she’s spending hours of her life trekking back and forth across the country. Earthbound, she spends more time in transit than when she was out exploring the galaxy.

She lands in DC at 13:00 for her 14:00 meeting with General O’Neill and Agent Barrett, and takes the Metro to the Pentagon. It’s odd, this summons, and she resents it. If her personal safety’s not at stake why on earth can’t this be done over the phone, or during her next scheduled visit to DC? 

She thinks, uncharitably, that it’s not beyond the general to have summoned her just because he can, because he’s still mad at her and this is some kind of juvenile retribution. She imagines the meeting will last five minutes, that he’ll give her an unfriendly smile and say “Thanks for coming, Colonel.” She thinks, if that’s the case, she’ll be glad he hasn’t contacted her since their fight and she won’t care if he thinks she’s a quitter. In fact she’ll be glad, because then she’ll stop feeling so hollow and achy and full of regret.

By the time she’s found the obscure meeting room, far away from the general’s office, she’s convinced herself that the whole thing is some kind of prank and she’s primed for a fight.

So she’s momentarily stalled when she opens the door and the room is empty except for Jack, who stands up warily and meets her gaze with warm, serious eyes. Seeing him again affects her more than she expects and by the look of him he feels pretty much the same, so they just stand there staring at each other as the clock on the wall ticks away the seconds. He looks every inch the general in his blues and that helps, but not much. Really all she can see when she looks at him now is Jack; she has to resist the urge to compensate with a salute.

“Come in, Carter,” he says eventually, and she realizes she’s still standing in the doorway holding the door open.

She takes a step inside, lets the door swing shut behind her, and glances around. “Agent Barrett isn’t here, sir?” Stupid question – as if she could have overlooked him in the small room, as if maybe he’s hiding under the table.

“No, I wanted to talk to you first,” Jack says. “But Barrett’s here if you want to talk with him after.”

His grave tone alarms her, sweeps aside her previous fears and suspicions. “After what?”

He shoots her a glance as he sits back down and she realizes she’s forgotten the honorific. Too late to add it now, she compensates by saying, “Sir, I understood the security issue had been resolved.”

“Not exactly,” he says, and she notices his hand resting on a slim NID file on the table in front of him. “Take a seat, Colonel.”

She does so, and the whole length of the table stretches between them. Jack – the general, she corrects herself – doesn’t comment on that and she notices how still his hand is on the table. No fiddling, no drumming fingers. The hairs on the back of her neck stir as something cold runs fingers down her spine. “Sir, what’s going on?”

He lets out a breath, almost but not quite a sigh. “Here’s the thing, Carter,” he says. “Barrett found out who requested the FBI background check.” He looks at her with a steady gaze. “You’re not going to like it, but it was Shanahan.”

She stares, feels something lurch and turn over in the pit of her stomach. “What?”

He starts to push the file toward her, but he’s too far away so he gets up and brings it to her, taking a seat a couple of chairs away. “He called in a favor,” Jack says quietly. “I’m guessing, from the date, it was soon after you guys started dating.”

Opening the file she stares blindly at the paper for a moment. “Is this a joke?” she says at last, scrambling for any kind of explanation.

“No one’s laughing, Sam,” he says gently and there’s nothing but sincerity in his face.

She has to blink a couple of times before she can focus on the report and skims through it quickly – there’s not much to read. Jack’s right that the date ties in with the start of her relationship with Pete, the point at which he was chafing because she couldn’t tell him anything about her work. She remembers his frustration, the way he’d stormed out after their first night together. Looking back, she can almost see the red flag going up right there and can’t believe she didn’t notice it at the time. “It’s because I couldn’t tell him what I do,” she says out loud. She isn’t intending to justify what he’s done, but somehow that’s what it sounds like.

Jack – damn it, _General O’Neill_ – sits back in his chair, taps his fingers on the table. “Doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know,” she says. 

“Plenty of people in the services go home every night keeping secrets, Carter. Plenty of families who understand that, too.”

“I’m not making excuses,” she says, more forcefully. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Sir.”

He spreads his hands, looks away like he’s biting his tongue. “Okay,” he says. “I just want you to know that what he did is not okay.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s an offense, an abuse of office. I understand that.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t talking about that,” he says. “I mean it’s not okay that he ran a background check on his girlfriend. That is _not_ okay behavior and it’s not something you should excuse.” He pauses for a moment, then more quietly adds, “Or put with up.”

She can’t hold his gaze, feels her face flush with humiliation, and looks back down at the stark details on the file. She feels like an idiot, sitting there being told that it’s not okay that Pete ran a background check on her, that he distrusted her so completely from the beginning of their relationship. She hates that Jack thinks she needs to be told and, worse, that he thinks she abandoned him for a man like this.

“Sam?” he says gently. “You okay?”

Nodding, she looks up and out the window so she’s not looking at him when she says, “The worst thing is, I’m not even that surprised.”

Jack moves, shifts forward in his chair, and she knows that despite everything, he wants to reach out and touch her. It’s what he does when he doesn’t know what to say. And she wants him to touch her, to take her hand or hold her for a moment. But that’s a bad idea for a whole slew of reasons, not least because they’re sitting in a Pentagon meeting room.

She tears her gaze from the window and it collides with his. “Carter…” he sighs, and on the table between them his fingers curl into a fist. “What can I do?”

It’s an impossible question to answer, especially here. “Will the NID take it further?” she asks instead.

“Do you want them to?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

His lips press into a tight line of disapproval and he sits back again in his chair. “Okay.”

“I know it was wrong,” she assures him. “But I don’t want to be the reason he gets fired.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t be the reason.”

She closes the file, slides it back toward him, and gets to her feet. “Sir, I’d like to head back now, if that’s okay.”

He doesn’t look happy, but says, “You want to talk to Barrett? Ask any questions?”

“No. But could you thank him for me? Thank him for handling this so sensitively. And,” she falters under his steady gaze, “and thank you too, sir.”

He waves that away and pushes to his feet as well. He looks like he wants to say something, but flounders and simply says, “I’m sorry, Carter. About everything.”

“Yeah,” she says, because she knows ‘everything’ encompasses the whole of this tangled situation. “Me too.” And then, before things get emotional and unprofessional, she turns to leave.

“Don’t let him get away with it, Sam,” he says. 

She won’t, but she wants him to understand that it’s not as straightforward as he thinks. “The thing is,” she says, “there’s a reason Pete never really trusted me.”

His “Really?” is pure skepticism and when she turns around he’s watching her from the other side of the table, arms folded. 

“It’s because I’ve lied to him,” she says. “Every single day.”

“Carter,” he sighs, exasperated, “everyone who works at Stargate—”

“Not about that.” 

“Then what?”

“About you,” she says, and watches the impact startle his eyes wide. “You’re what I’ve lied about – to him and to myself – from the beginning. And I think he always knew. So, you see, six of one…”

There’s a complicated collision of emotions on Jack’s face, but as she turns to leave again he says, “Still not an excuse, Carter. Shanahan is responsible for his own actions, not you. Not me. _Him_.”

She nods because it’s getting harder to hold it together with him standing there being kind and caring when the last time they met he’d accused her of betrayal. “I have to go.” 

“Sam,” he says, in a low, feeling voice, “if there’s ever anything you need…”

“I’m fine,” she says, backing away. “I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.”

And then she turns, opens the door and leaves, both relieved and disappointed when he doesn’t follow. 

***

It’s a warm night, but not humid like DC. It’s the kind of night where the lights look bright and twinkly and people feel lazy with the heat. 

Kerry’s worked late, finishing up what she can before her flight home the next day, and she strolls back to her quarters relishing the pleasant warmth on her skin after the aggressive air conditioning in the office.

Guest quarters are a little walk from the office buildings, but she doesn’t mind because she’s been inside all day and it’s good to breathe some fresh air. Ahead, the hobby shop is open and its light and noise spills out onto the sidewalk, along with an admixture of smells: wood, diesel, solder. She glances in as she passes by, spots a few guys working on projects and a rather spectacular motorcycle sitting in the center of the shop. She does something of a double take because it looks for a moment like the woman working on the bike is Sam. And then the blonde head lifts. 

“Kerry!” Sam says, raising a grease-black hand in a wave as she stands up. “I didn’t know you were still on base.”

“Until tomorrow,” Kerry says, smiling at Sam’s dirty overalls. “You changing careers, Colonel?”

She returns the smile and the expression has more of an edge than Kerry’s used to seeing. “I needed some R&R,” she says, with a nod to the bike. “So I had her shipped out last week.” She wipes her hands on her overalls. “I wanted to change the oil, tune her up a little, before I took her for a spin.” She adds, thoughtfully, “I haven’t had the chance to ride in months.”

It’s amusing to Kerry that Sam, standing there in a tank top and bib overalls, grease on her hands and arms and her hair pushed behind her ears, only has eyes for the bike and seems oblivious to the admiring looks she’s getting from the guys working around her. 

“So what do you think?” Sam says. 

“Of the bike?” Kerry knows nothing about motorcycles, so says the only thing that is honest. “It’s beautiful.”

“She’s an Indian,” Sam says, in a tone that implies it’s impressive in some way. “1940. She was in pretty bad shape when I bought her. I fixed her up myself.”

“Wow,” Kerry says. 

“Yeah, it’s been fun. I’ve got a Harley too,” she adds with a smile. “Back home. But that’s still a work in progress.”

“So this is what you do for fun?” Kerry says. “I had no idea.”

Sam shrugs. “It’s been a while, I guess.”

Kerry wants to ask if she and Pete go out riding together, but can guess the answer so she doesn’t bother making the point. “It looks scarier to ride than the quad bikes,” she says instead.

“Scary?” Sam sounds genuinely bemused. “I wouldn’t call it scary. But it’s definitely a thrill.” She lightly taps the seat, careful not to get grease on the leather. “Not really built for two though, or I’d offer you a ride.”

“Ah, no thanks. Jack couldn’t get me on the back of his bike and you’re not likely to do much better.”

Sam stares at her for a moment. “He…has a bike?”

“Back in the Springs, yeah.”

She shakes her head and Kerry can see a slow flush creeping into her cheeks. “Uh, what kind?”

Kerry laughs, because she has no idea what kind of bike Jack has but she does know _exactly_ why Sam’s blushing. “All I can tell you,” she says, lowering her voice, “is that it’s blue and he looks pretty good riding it.”

Sam turns away with an embarrassed shake of her head, grabs a rag and starts polishing the gleaming handlebars. “Listen,” she says. “I’m almost done here. I’ll walk back with you?”

It’s half an hour before Sam’s actually done; she takes a great deal of care of her bike. It’s definitely her pride and joy. She waves goodnight to the guys still working and they each nod and throw out a casual, “Night, Colonel.” And then they’re outside, in the relative cool, and Kerry keeps her mouth shut because it’s pretty clear that Sam wants to talk but doesn’t quite know how. So Kerry leaves her to fill the space and eventually she does.

“So,” Sam says. “I had a meeting at the Pentagon on Tuesday.”

“Yeah?”

She nods and falls silent. Kerry’s expecting to hear, now, how she and Jack made up, or maybe how they didn’t. She’s not expecting Sam to tell her that the meeting was about Pete, about how he’d asked a friend in the FBI to run a background check on Sam when they were first dating, or how she suspects that he once followed her to an operation and then nearly blew the whole thing. Or how, the first time they slept together, he stormed out of her bedroom because she couldn’t tell him about her job, or how he bought their home without her even seeing it first.

“Wow,” Kerry says when Sam stops talking. “That’s…a lot to take in.”

Sam nods, then turns to look at her and says, “Tell me, honestly, if you’re surprised.”

Honestly. She considers her answer, slowing to a halt as she does so. The sky is full of stars, as always out here, and there’s a crescent moon just peeking over the top of the building behind Sam. But otherwise it’s dark and Sam’s all pallid skin and shadows. “Honestly,” Kerry says, “I think it fits with what I’ve seen of his personality and of your relationship with him.”

“What does that mean?” she demands.

Sam’s different tonight, Kerry decides. Or perhaps this is the Colonel Carter who saves the planet before breakfast – brave, incisive, and unflinching. Kerry decides to give her the honesty she’s asked for. “I think Pete’s more invested in the relationship than you are,” she says. “I think he knows it and is jealous of the time you spend with others, especially Jack, but also anyone who’s part of the Stargate Program. That’s your world and he can’t be part of it so he sees it as a threat. He’s afraid he’s going to lose you to that world and he’s trying to control the situation to keep that from happening.” She cocks her head. “Right?”

Sam nods and blows out a breath. “Yeah,” she says, “that’s pretty much what I figured.”

“Not that it excuses his behavior,” Kerry adds for good measure. “That’s— What he did is very wrong.”

“I know.” She shakes her head. “I feel like I’m just waking up, or coming out of a fog or something. Does that make sense? I mean, okay, so I didn’t know about the background check, but there were other warning signs I should have picked up.”

“Well,” Kerry says, “you know what they say about 20/20 hindsight. Sometimes it’s not easy to see things straight when you’re in the middle of a situation.”

They stand in silence for a while, Sam lost in thought. “I did love him,” she says after a while. “I did love him when I agreed to marry him. He gave me exactly what I thought I wanted and I guess I overlooked the rest.”

“And you thought you wanted stability?” Kerry guesses. “Normality?” 

“It’s this job,” Sam says with a sigh, “it messes with your head. I mean, the things we’ve been through, the things we’ve done…no one should come out the other side of that sane, Kerry. I mean, seriously. No one _can_.”

“You’re sane,” Kerry chides her. 

Sam gives her a wry look. “Sometimes I wonder. I mean, look at this mess.”

Kerry looks at _her_ instead, really looks. Fine lines fan out from around restless eyes, she’s a little too thin for her height and it makes her appear drawn and anxious. Ambitious, driven, perfectionist: those traits are written all across her face. But there’s loneliness there too, she saw that the first day they met. Sam’s an extraordinary woman leading an extraordinary life. It’s no surprise she craved something normal. “You know,” Kerry says, “you probably don’t hear this often, but I’m just going to put it out there: it’s okay to make mistakes. We all do it. Even you.”

“Yeah, but there’s usually a way to fix them,” Sam says. “I don’t like walking away from my mistakes.”

Kerry lifts an eyebrow. “Sam, honey, sometimes walking away is the _only_ way to fix them.”

***

“Well, this is cool.”

Jack’s standing on the flight deck of the _Daedalus_ looking out through her vast view screens at Earth spinning slowly below.

Colonel Caldwell is at his shoulder, puffed up with pride and Jack allows him the feeling; the _Daedalus_ has seen action now, her nose has been bloodied, and Caldwell’s crew came through it well, tempered by the experience. 

“Let me show you around, sir,” Caldwell says, and leads the way out into the corridors of his ship. It’s hard to believe that this is theirs, that they – humans – built all this themselves. So they might have had a little help from their friends, but this ship is one-hundred percent their own. And he thinks that’s pretty cool.

They visit engineering – he tries not to imagine Carter there – and sickbay and a dozen other spaces and they wind up in the small office that will be Daniel’s bolt hole for the eighteen-day trip to Pegasus. Jack still can’t believe he’s letting Daniel go, but with everything so quiet on the Goa’uld front he’s run out of excuses to keep him at the SGC. Besides, it sounds like Weir needs him.

Daniel’s already unpacking boxes when Jack shows up and he looks up with a grin. “Oh, hey, you’re here,” he says.

“He’s very astute,” Jack tells Caldwell, although the joke falls on stony ground. So he changes tack, having learned to practice a little diplomacy in DC, and says, “Thanks for your time, Colonel, I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll find my own way back to the bridge.”

Caldwell glances between Jack and Daniel, but isn’t the type to question a superior. So he just nods and says, “Let me know when you’re ready to head back down, sir.”

Daniel’s office, not much more than a closet, has no windows and Jack can’t really see the point of being up here if he can’t look out at the world below. So once Caldwell has gone he says, “Let’s find a view.”

Used to this kind of thing after eight long years, Daniel just shrugs and says, “Sure, okay.”

They walk together, Daniel leading the way. He’s been up and down from the ship during her stay in orbit like a kid overexcited about a trip to the beach, and he’s learned his way around. Eventually they reach a narrow corridor with a small, thick window. Through it Jack can just see a crescent of Earth, a slice of East Asia if his geography’s not letting him down. “You call this a window?” he says.

Daniel lifts an eyebrow. “It’s a battleship.”

It’s a fair point, and really he hasn’t come for the view. Leaning against the wall, he glances out at the starry darkness beyond, then looks back at Daniel, “So, you’re really going, huh?”

“Yep.” He can’t keep the smile out of his eyes. “I really am.”

“To another galaxy.” 

“That’s the idea.”

Jack cocks his head, looks at Daniel who’s somehow very different from the man he first met and somehow the same. “You know I won’t have your back on this one,” Jack says. “I’ll be here. You’ll be there.”

Daniel nods, for once choosing to understand what he’s saying between the lines. “You’ll still have our backs,” he says. “Isn’t that why you’re still wearing the uniform, still sitting in the big chair?”

It’s the truth, and he’s pretty sure Daniel’s the only person who really gets it. “One day,” he says, “I _will_ retire.”

“Sure, the day after Teal’c, Sam and I do.” 

He shakes his head at that, although if it were possible it’s probably exactly how it would go down. “Don’t do anything stupid out there,” he tells Daniel. 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“And you still owe me a visit,” he says, turning now so he’s leaning his back against the hull. “When you get back.”

Daniel nods. “I know. I’ll stop by.” A beat of silence falls as Daniel looks out the window and Jack gazes at the gray walls of the _Daedalus_ , hating how everything has changed and wishing he’d appreciated those heady days of SG-1 just a little bit more than he had at the time. “You know,” Daniel says, glancing at him, “no one is indispensable. Not me, not Sam, not Teal’c – not even you.”

“Hey, no one ever claimed I was indispensable,” he says, although the rest of them pretty much are. But he doesn’t want to dwell on that, on how big a hole SG-1 has left in his life. So he turns the subject and says, “In fact, I bumped into my replacement yesterday.”

Daniel’s eyebrows lift. “Replacement in what sense?”

“The new leader of SG-1,” he clarifies. “Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”

“Oh.” Daniel’s nonplussed, which Jack counts as a result. 

“Yeah – saved our butts back when Anubis came calling, apparently, and got himself pretty beat up in the process.”

“I thought that was you,” Daniel says.

Jack smiles. “Like I said, there’s always someone else.”

“Like Colonel Mitchell.”

“I told him to name the job he wanted and he wanted SG-1.”

“It’s odd,” Daniel says, “you not being the leader of SG-1.”

“I haven’t led SG-1 for over a year.”

Daniel nods. “I know. It’s still odd. The SGC is odd without you there. And without Sam and Teal’c. I miss—I just miss it.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, puts a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

They’re rare, these moments with Daniel, because there’s usually too much friction between them for honest feelings. But the last decade, the last couple of years especially, have worn down those ragged edges and honesty is easier than it used to be. Besides, they both know there’s a chance Daniel won’t make it back; intergalactic travel is no cake walk and he’s always had a propensity for trouble.

“Look out for Sam while I’m gone,” Daniel says as they head back to the bridge. 

Jack nods, but things with Carter are beyond complicated now and he can’t even explain the situation to himself, let alone to anyone else. So all says is, “You know I always do.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says. They stop at the entrance to the bridge, far enough back so the doors don’t open. Neither of them wants to say goodbye in public. “I fully intend to come back,” Daniel says then, “but just in case—”

“Daniel,” Jack cuts him off. It’s one thing knowing the odds, another tempting fate.

But Daniel’s always been a stubborn sonofabitch. “Just in case,” he says over Jack’s objection, “I want to tell you that I think you and Sam will make each other happy. I think you deserve to be happy. And I think you should do whatever it takes to be together. To hell with the rules.” He lets out a breath, and nods to himself. “There,” he says, “I said it.”

“You did,” Jack agrees and he can’t help smiling. 

Daniel returns the smile. “I’ll see you in a couple months, Jack.” 

“Have fun. And stay outta trouble.”

“Trouble?” Daniel says, feigning innocence. “Me? When has that ever happened?”

Jack smiles and Daniel lifts his hand in a wave as he turns and they part. But his smile fades as he watches Daniel walk away and he has to work hard to push back a deep and sudden sense of foreboding.

Everything’s changing. Like the world spinning somewhere beneath his feet, everything is turning and he has no idea what’s going to happen next.

***

Over 500 kilometers beneath the _Daedalus_ , Sam is standing on the porch of her house – their house – looking up and watching the glint of the ship as it passes overhead. Its telltale straight-line orbit is easy to spot if you know where to look, and of course she does.

She wonders if Daniel is up there already, or in Cheyenne Mountain packing. There are still eight days before the _Daedalus_ departs and she’s hoping she’ll get a chance to visit – both Daniel and the ship – before they leave.

Part of her envies Daniel’s escape. The next adventure is opening up before him with all the brilliance of discovery that she’s missed since she left the SGC. Another part of her knows that she’s simply looking for some place to run, and that no matter how far she went, she’d always have to come back and her problems would still be here waiting.

She hears Pete’s car pull into the driveway – she’s already moved her Volvo onto the street, her bag packed and in the trunk. With some dismay she had realized as she packed that there wasn’t much in the house that was hers and that everything of importance was already at Groom Lake or still in her own house. She can see now that she never really moved in, that Kerry was right about her lack of investment in the relationship, and she feels a new kind of guilt at her own blindness. 

If Janet had still been here, she thinks, she would have held the mirror up and let Sam see what she was doing. But Janet is gone, and she’s had to find her own way to the truth. The pity is that she’s going to hurt Pete and, as angry as she is at his behavior, she never wanted to hurt him. Or Jack. Yet somehow she’s done both.

She hears Pete open the front door and heads inside through the kitchen door to meet him there. Justice, she’s decided, means he deserves a right of reply but she knows the outcome of this evening is a foregone conclusion. 

“Hey Sam,” he says when he sees her, smiling as if everything isn’t about to come crashing down around him. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah,” she says. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

His smile drops. He’s always alert to trouble, and she can see now that there’s panic in his eyes. Perhaps he’s always been expecting this moment. “What’s wrong?” he says.

Sam takes a seat at the kitchen table and indicates that he should do the same. He doesn’t; he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer. He doesn’t offer her one. “Sam, what’s happened?” he says. “Tell me.”

He won’t sit, and she won’t force him. Taking a breath she says, “Why did you ask Special Agent Farrity to run a background check on me?”

Pete stops moving, the beer halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Denial, she supposes, is inevitable. “Why did you ask him to run an FBI background check on me last year, when we started dating?”

His mouth works silently, his hand lowers and the beer swings from limp fingers. “I—Sam, it’s not how it sounds.”

“Answer the question,” she says. “Why did you do it?”

He shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake some sense into the situation. “Look,” he says, “I was just—I didn’t know anything about you. You could have been anyone! I was just doing some research. You’d have done the same.”

“No,” she says, “I wouldn’t. I didn’t.”

“Come on,” he says, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her. “It’s not like I found anything out anyway. You’re file’s blocked.”

“That’s not the point,” she says. “First, it’s illegal. Second, it’s invasive. Third, it shows that you had absolutely no trust in me and no respect for me.”

“I didn’t know you!” he protests. “You could have been anyone.”

“I’m Mark’s sister,” she points out. “That didn’t mean anything?”

He shrugs. “I’m a cop, Sam. I get paid to be suspicious.”

“Of your girlfriend?”

“Of anyone I don’t know, yeah.”

She takes a breath, taken aback by his lack of compunction. “That day you almost busted our op, when you got yourself shot? Had you been following me?”

“I _helped_ you.”

“Were you following me?” She infuses the words with an edge of command, something to make an airman jump out of his skin. 

Pete’s head jerks up, he stills. “Yes,” he says. “I needed to know who you were, Sam.”

“No,” she says. “You needed to _trust_ me.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I always knew you were hiding something.”

“Pete—”

“I’m not blind, you know,” he says. “I see the way O’Neill looks at you.”

Angry, she gets to her feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He’s on his feet too, hands planted on the table, leaning forward. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you and him never had a thing.”

“You have no right—”

“I’m your husband!” he yells, slamming the bottle down hard and sloshing beer on the table. “Of course I have a right.”

She takes a step back, upset by his anger but not intimidated; her resolve is hardening with every moment. “My relationship with General O’Neill has always been entirely professional. And if you knew him you wouldn’t even question that.” She shakes her head in sudden realization. “If you knew _me_ you wouldn’t question it.” 

Pete’s just glaring at her, not giving an inch. “Bullshit,” he says. “I _saw_ you together outside that bar, Sam.”

She’s confused until she realizes he’s talking about the night she left the SGC. Involuntarily her eyes close, the pain of that parting still sharp. She knows it must look like guilt but in reality it’s simply loss. “I have friends I care about,” she says. “Daniel, Teal’c, and – yes – General O’Neill. We’re closer than friends; we’re family. I thought, with your job, you’d understand that.”

Pete slumps back into the chair and takes a long drink. He doesn’t look at her. “At least be honest with me, Sam. Give me that much respect.”

“Respect?” she snaps. “Oh that’s rich! You _spied_ on me, Pete. You treated me like a criminal and nothing justifies that. Nothing.” 

He runs fingers through his hair, looking deflated. “I only did it because I love you, Sam. Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

She shakes her head, because it’s obvious now. “You did it for yourself, Pete,” she says. “You did it because you didn’t trust me. You still don’t.”

He’s silent for a while, staring morosely down at the table top and drawing patterns in the spilled beer with one finger. “If I don’t,” he says at last, “it’s because you cut me out. All the time.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“Look, you knew going into this that there was a huge part of my life I couldn’t share. And if you can’t handle that then it’s not my fault.” She’s struck by a sudden memory: the way he’d gotten angry after their first night together, the way he’d stormed out of her house when she refused to talk about her job. “I just wish I’d seen it from the start.”

He looks up, accusation in his eyes. “You know, I think you like that your job is secret,” he says. “I think you use it to keep other secrets.”

Her mouth goes dry. She tries to swallow but can’t. 

Pete nods, “Yeah,” he says. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The thing is, there is an element of truth in his accusations and an element of sophistry in her defense. Her relationship with Jack has always been strictly professional, true. But she’s also been in love with him for years; she was in love with him when she married Pete. And that’s a secret she’s kept – from Pete as well as from Jack. Sometimes, even from herself.

She licks her lips and eyes the kitchen door. She wants to just leave, to get this over with and go. But she’s always had a compulsion for honesty and it feels wrong to call Pete out on his mistakes and not acknowledge her own. “I wanted to have a normal life,” she says, trying to explain herself. “I was looking for something I thought I was missing out on, and I thought I could—”

“But that’s what we have!” he interrupts, suddenly hopeful. “We have that, Sam. We can make this work. This – all this suspicion – is just because of your job. If you had a normal job it would all be fine.” 

She stares at him. “A normal job?”

“Sam, you could get another job in a heartbeat,” he says. “And then all this would go away. There’d be no secrets, and we’d have that life you wanted. Kids, family. The whole thing. Just like Mark does. We’d be just a regular, happy family Sam.”

She’s not sure if he’s joking, if he really knows what he’s saying. Her lips open, but she doesn’t know how to answer him.

“Please,” he says, getting to his feet, taking her hand. “Sam, don’t you see? Everything that’s wrong between us is because of that crazy job.”

She just stares at him for a moment, at his earnest oblivious face, at the impatience behind his mild eyes. “Pete,” she says eventually, pulling her hand from his. “It’s not just a job, it’s a career. And I love what I do.”

“More than me?” He reaches for her again. “More than us?”

“It’s who I am, Pete.”

“It’s not _all_ you are,” he persists. “You’re my wife and one day I hope you’ll be the mother of my children. But this job, this secrecy…it’s ruining everything.”

“My career is not the problem here,” she says. “The problem is that you don’t trust me and I don’t—” She backs off, softens the blow. “I don’t want the things I thought I wanted. I’m sorry. When I met you I was in a difficult place, I was looking for something I couldn’t find, and I thought you were it. But I was wrong.”

His face goes slack, color draining except for two angry points of red in his cheeks. “What are you saying?”

She swallows, because this is the moment. Now. Right now. Every muscle tenses; she’d do anything not to be here, not to be saying this, but there’s no way around the moment so she just has to get through it. “I’m leaving, Pete. I’m sorry, but I think it’ll be best for both of us in the end.”

“Leaving?” he echoes.

Sudden, guilty tears bunch in her throat, prick at her eyes. “I’m sorry Pete, but I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t be your wife.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and moves to go past him.

He grabs her arm, fingers biting into her wrist. “Don’t,” he says. “Sam, please. Don’t go.”

“I have to,” she says, her eyes fixed on his fingers through eyes swimming with tears. “Please let go.”

“He’s making you do this, isn’t he?” The spots of anger in his cheeks flare and spread into an ugly flush. “I bet this is all his idea.”

His fingers are hurting her and she jerks her arm free, takes a step back. “This has nothing to do with anyone but us,” she says. “Our marriage was a mistake. I think, deep down, we both knew it.”

He barks a laugh, circles back to the kitchen table, picks up the beer and takes a long drink. “You know what I knew?” he says. “I knew he wanted you. I should have seen this coming right from the start.”

She thinks _she_ should have seen it coming right from the start too. If she had, she wouldn’t have dragged them all into this mess.

“I’m going to spend a couple nights at the SGC,” she says, “and then I’m taking a few days to go see my dad. We’ll talk when I get back.”

“So that’s it?” Suddenly there are tears in his eyes and that’s worse than his anger. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s for the best.” She steps around the table, heading for the front door. He grabs her arm again as she passes, but she shakes him off. “Don’t,” she warns. “Don’t do that.”

He must see the seriousness in her face because he lets go. “I loved you Sam,” he says, throwing it at her like an accusation. “I’d have done anything for you.” 

She nods because she knows he believes it and she’s not sure who takes the greater share of the blame for the mistake – him for marrying a woman he didn’t trust, or her for marrying a man she didn’t love. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” she says, the words inadequate but true. “I’m sorry, Pete.” And then she turns and walks to the front of the door. 

Outside the world is dark, the stars are bright and the air is clear. When she puts her car into gear and guns the engine, she feels more alive than she has in months. She feels like she’s stepping back into her own skin at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Final chapter up tomorrow. _Chapter Six: Course Correction_


	6. Course Correction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks a couple of beers shouldn’t make him this maudlin. But he figures it’s not really the beers. It’s the last two years, and the four before that, and the four before that.

For reasons Jack considers spurious it’s not considered secure for the _Daedalus_ to beam people in and out of the Pentagon. It’s a policy he’s determined to change, but until he manages to stage that little coup d’état he’s forced to travel to the SGC in order to beam up to the _Daedalus_. A waste of tax dollars, he’s quite sure, but he has a couple of errands to run in the Springs anyway, so it’s not entirely a wasted trip.

Heading out to take care of them, he decides to swing by Landry’s office and say goodbye. Besides, he can’t resist a final glimpse of the gate and he lingers in the control room, just staring at it, until his presence makes everyone too uncomfortable and he heads upstairs to the empty briefing room and Landry’s office.

But he stops on the top step.

To his complete astonishment Carter is standing by the window overlooking the gate room, staring down at the gate much as he had done. She looks just the way she used to look at the SGC: black t-shirt, BDUs, and combat boots. In his mind’s eye, that’s still how he pictures her and it jolts a painful nostalgia for times when all this was simpler and he got to see her every day.

It takes a moment before he can pull himself together enough to step into the briefing room. His boots scuff on the floor and she turns at the sound, eyes going wide when she sees him. “Oh.” 

She always was more articulate than him.

And after what feels like a long and awkward silence he can only manage, “Hey.” 

She looks wan, pinched beneath her Nevada tan, and he wants to ask her how she is, whether she’s spoken to Shanahan about his behavior – he hopes she’s given him hell. And he wants to tell her he’s sorry for the things he said that night at his house, for blaming her unfairly for the messy situation between them that is probably more his fault than hers. He wants to apologize for hurting her, for getting angry when she’d only tried to be honest. 

All these things he wants to say, they’re bunched up hard in his chest. But he’s standing in the briefing room at the SGC, of all the places in the world the one most likely to repress anything not entirely professional between them. Here they can only ever be the general and the colonel. 

So he walks to the window, keeping a respectable distance from her so as not to draw a hint of suspicion. Below them the Stargate stands still and silent, dominating the gate room the way it’s dominated the last decade of their lives. “Still impressive after all these years, huh?” 

“Yes sir.” 

He turns, glancing at her obliquely. He can tell she’s uncomfortable from the way she’s tugging at the sleeves of her shirt, from the myriad expressions flitting across her face. Feeling his gaze, she looks at him. There’s a moment of silence, her eyes anxious. She says, “I’m just waiting for a briefing with General Landry before I head up to the _Daedalus_.” Nervously she pushes up the sleeves of her t-shirt. “Just taking a tour before she leaves.”

His gaze dips to her arms, her hands. On her wrist, just above her watch, he sees three red circles. Like fingermarks. Something constricts his chest, the kind of angry fear he never let himself feel for her in the field. “Carter—”

She tugs her sleeves back down and says, “I was hoping to catch Daniel, sir. Did you see him?”

He looks up, into her eyes, but it’s like looking in the mirror. He sees nothing there but his own anxiety. “Are you okay?” he says, ignoring her feeble attempt to distract him.

She nods. “Yes sir.”

And then another voice intrudes, Landry puffing his way up the stairs from the control room. “Jack!” he beams. “Colonel Carter, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Jack turns, takes a step toward Landry and away from Sam so it doesn’t look like Landry’s interrupting anything. “Hank,” he says, “just admiring the view.”

“Still trying to get used to it,” Landry confesses with a wry look at the Stargate. “You sticking around, Jack? I’m due to brief Colonel Carter right now, but I have some beers cooling at home if you’re not rushing back to DC?”

“Sounds good,” Jack says, and risks a sideways glance at Carter. She catches his eye as he says, “I’m here all weekend. Signing papers to my house and my truck…my motorcycle…”

“I didn’t know you had a motorcycle, sir,” Carter says, out of the blue. She sounds disappointed, as if it’s something he should have told her. He knows there was a time when he would have told her, would have asked her over to admire it, would have offered her a ride.

“Impulse buy,” he says in an endeavor to explain. “I got it after I left SG-1.” More precisely, after she’d started wearing Shanahan’s ring. That very weekend.

Carter nods; he knows she understands. “What kind do you have?” 

And he feels a little self-conscious because, yeah, it was stupidly expensive. But he’d figured, what else was he going to do with the pay raise? And with Carter off planning her wedding, he’d needed something to drag him out of the slump he’d been in since he escaped those endless months in stasis only to find himself shunted unwillingly into the role of base commander. Not that Carter needs to know any of that, so he tries to look nonchalant as he says, “It’s a BMW. A blue one.”

Her eyes flicker, as if she’s resisting the urge to roll them. “Which series?”

Of course she’d want specifics. And now Landry’s watching the exchange with interest and Jack doubts Hank cares much about motorcycles. No, he’s pretty sure the dynamic playing out between him and Carter is quite entertaining, and revealing, enough. So he decides to cut it short and says, “R1200GS.” And watches Carter’s eyebrows climb.

“Wow,” she says, which gives him a juvenile thrill that might just be worth the price of the bike. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty cool.”

Silence falls. Carter looks like she wants to say something, but can’t find the words and Jack feels pretty much the same. They really need to talk, just to clear the air. But she’s heading up to the _Daedalus_ and he’ll be back in DC on Monday and the whole damn mess is driving him crazy.

It’s only when Landry clears his throat that Jack realizes he and Sam have been gazing at each other for far too long. 

“Right,” he says, turning away from her. “Well, I’ll leave you to your briefing, Hank.” And with a look in her direction, “Carter. Enjoy the _Daedalus_.”

“Yes sir,” she says and he heads past her to the stairs. But before his feet hit the first step she calls out, “General?” He turns and she gives him a faint smile. “Don’t sell the bike, sir.”

He’s not sure what that means, why she’s saying it, but he allows himself a smile of his own as he heads back down into the control room. He’s pretty sure Pete Shanahan doesn’t own a motorcycle. 

***

He spends the next day – Saturday – packing up the last odds and ends at his house. The movers will come and load everything into containers on Monday and it’ll all go into storage until he finds some place more permanent in DC. The truck’s already gone. The motorcycle…that’s still in the garage. 

Maybe it’s the way Carter said ‘Wow’, but he’s starting to think she has a point about not selling the bike. Riding through Shenandoah on weekends might be just the thing to shake loose the tensions of the week. He’s looking into the best way to ship it to DC.

But that aside, everything’s packed and he’s pretty much camping in his house. So he orders pizza and eats it out on the deck with a cold beer. It’s his last night here and he has mixed feelings about selling. He’d bought the place soon after the first mission through the gate, back when he was still crawling out of the pit he’d fallen into after Charlie died. He can’t say he fell in love with it; he just bought the first thing that seemed okay and was far enough from his old neighborhood to keep memories from jumping out from around every corner. But over the years he’s grown attached to the place. There are good memories here now, mostly of times with his team but also of some quiet moments alone as he came to realize that contentment was possible, that he was himself again and that the grief that had overwhelmed him hadn’t destroyed him after all. And, later on, it was here that he figured out he was still capable of loving and feeling more or less worthy of love in return.

He recovered in this house, grew back into his life here. A different life, but one with a meaning he’d once thought lost forever. He’ll be sorry to leave it for that reason alone.

He thinks of Carter, of course, because he thinks about her all the time these days. He wonders if she’s still aboard the _Daedalus_ , perhaps having dinner with Daniel far, far above. He likes to imagine her up there, not Earthbound in Shanahan’s suburban dream of a home. He suspects one day her career will take her onto one of those starships and out of Earth’s orbit entirely. If Shanahan thinks Nevada’s too far, he wonders how he’ll handle the Pegasus galaxy. He wonders if their marriage will even last that long. He hopes it won’t. He can’t stand the thought of Shanahan holding her back when he should be dazzled by how high she can fly.

And he thinks a couple of beers shouldn’t make him this maudlin. But he figures it’s not really the beers. It’s the last two years, and the four before that, and the four before that. 

He decides that the universe really owes him a break, and when he hears her Volvo pull up in his driveway he thinks he might just have gotten it.

Darting around to the front of the house, he hopes to intercept her before she reaches the front door but when he gets there she’s still sitting in her car, staring at the house as she chews on her bottom lip. 

He’s ridiculously happy to see her and barks “Carter!” before she can change her mind.

She starts at the sound of his voice and has no choice but to climb out of her car now that he’s seen her. “I’m sorry to just show up,” she says, hovering behind the car door as if she might jump back in. “I was going to call…” She trails off, but he understands; none of this can be said over the phone.

“I thought you were up there,” he says, waving toward the stars.

She nods. “I was. I came back. I wanted to see you.”

He’s not sure how to answer that, so he just says, “I’ve got some cold pizza if you’re hungry.”

She smiles faintly. “I’m not, but thanks.” She looks tired and he remembers the red marks on her wrist, covered now by the too-long sleeves of a cardigan she’s wearing against the evening air. He guesses she’s gotten used to Nevada’s heat. 

“Beer?” he offers. “It’s that or water.”

“I just want to talk,” she says. “If you have a few minutes?”

He nods toward the back of the house. “Come on then.”

She perches on the edge of a chair, pulls the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands, and then pushes them back up again. He watches her, says nothing, and just waits. At length she puffs out a sigh and says, “I know you probably can’t forgive me, but I want you to know that I didn’t quit on you. I would never do that. And if I’d thought for a minute that you still had feelings for me, I wouldn’t have pursued things with Pete.”

He’s tempted to just reach over and hug her, pull her into his arms and tell her to forget everything he said that night. But he knows that would be too easy. This is the second time she’s tried to talk to him and he owes her more than platitudes. He owes her a conversation. So he takes a deep breath and says, “What I don’t get was why you thought anything had changed.”

She shakes her head, gazes out across his silent yard. “I guess because we locked everything down so tight.”

“We had to.”

“I know. It’s just that I didn’t _feel_ locked down. You were always so controlled, so _impassive_.” There’s a bite to those words, a stifled anger. “But I was all over the place. Every time you went missing or got hurt I fell apart. I felt so stupid. And then we lost Janet and I just wanted—I just really needed someone. And you weren’t there.” Her head sinks, and he can see the curve of her neck, pale in the light spilling out from his house. He kissed her there once, he thinks.

Fingers curling guiltily where his hand rests on the arm of his chair, he says, “I wanted to be there for you.” And he really wishes he could end it there, but he knows that’s no answer at all, so he forces himself to add, “The thing is, Carter, grief shuts me down. I close off. That’s…” He breathes. This feels like peeling off his skin. “That’s what ended my marriage. After Charlie.”

She looks at him with a sudden wash of understanding, like a wave breaking. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs it off, but she reaches out and puts a hand on his arm and he feels something crack open inside his chest. He has to swallow hard, but he knows she can see the fracture in his eyes because hers well with a sudden flood of emotion. “I didn’t think about how you were grieving for Janet too,” she says. “It didn’t even occur to me.”

He licks his lips, doesn’t drop her gaze. “Not just for Janet,” he says. “For us, I guess.”

Her face, always so expressive, crumples into confusion. “But there was no ‘us’. Not really.”

“There was the hope.” 

And then there are tears in her eyes and she’s pulling her hand from his arm, standing up and taking a step away from him, her back turned. But he can’t let her go and he doesn’t care about the regulations or Shanahan or anything outside this precise moment. He touches her shoulder, turns her to face him. She looks wretched, he feels wretched, and the only thing to do is pull her into his arms and hold her there. “Carter,” he breathes into her hair. 

There’s a moment when she resists, hesitates, but then she slips her arms around him and holds tight. He feels her breathe, feels her body relax. “I’ve left him,” she says into his shoulder. “I’ve left Pete.”

The visceral relief he feels is so powerful that he can’t speak past the raw feelings bunching in his throat and he has to close his eyes and breathe deep. 

“I should never have married him,” she says. “I feel so stupid.” 

“You’re not.” He lets his fingers thread into her hair, cradling her close, and they stay like that for a long time until she gives a heavy sigh and pulls away. She’s not crying, but her eyes are round and sad. Knowing there’s nothing he can say that will make her feel better, he resorts to the practical. “Where are you staying?” 

“On base tonight. I’m going to go see Dad tomorrow.”

He nods. “Good.”

She chews her lip, apprehensive. “Maybe. I can guess what he’ll say.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Possibly,” she admits with a fleeting smile. 

Jack considers that a victory.

But her gaze drifts away from him, turning thoughtful. She hasn’t moved and he can’t resist running his fingers lightly down her arm, taking her hand. “Sam?” he says, drawing her gaze back to him. “Call me when you get back?”

She studies him with serious eyes. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Am I?” 

Her fingers curl around his. It’s intimate in a way that hugging isn’t. He’s hugged her before but they’ve never held hands. He glances down, watches their fingers lace together.

“How about we start over?” she says.

He likes that idea. Everything is changing anyway, so why not this? Why not make a fresh start and just forget all their mistakes? “I’ll talk to the Chief of Staff,” he decides, looking up and into her eyes so she knows that he’s serious. 

She blows out a nervous breath and nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

They both know it’s the only way, because if they’d been willing to do something illicit they’d have done it years ago and avoided all this pain and longing. But it’s dangerous too; there’s a reason they never opened this can of worms and that reason hasn’t gone away just because their jobs have changed. “It’ll be okay,” he assures her. “The general’s one of the good guys. Besides, I can always just retire.”

She cocks her head. “Would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

He sees her frown, glance away and then back again before she says, “Would you have retired after Antarctica, if things had been different?” 

“Does it matter?” he says, because he doesn’t want to answer her question. They’re dealing with too many regrets already, why look for more? “We are where we are, Sam.”

But she shakes her head, suddenly looking too much like Colonel Carter with a problem to solve. “When I showed you the ring, when I asked what you’d do if things were different, you said ‘I wouldn’t be here’. Is that what you meant? That you’d have retired if things had been different between us?”

He’s bemused that she has to ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

“I didn’t know!” she exclaims, exasperated. “I didn’t know what you meant. You were being so damn cryptic.”

“Really? I thought I was being pretty clear.”

“Clear as mud,” she grumbles, smacking him gently on the shoulder.

It makes him smile and that makes her smile, and somehow they both end up quietly laughing and he pulls her back into a hug and she holds him really, really tight. “Oh God,” she sighs, “what a mess.”

“Fresh start,” he reminds her, stepping back and setting his hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “When you get back, we start over.”

She nods. “So I’ll call you?”

“I’ll be here.” He thinks for a moment and can’t help saying, “Well, not _here_ here. There. In DC. But I’ll be waiting. Impatiently.” 

She smiles again, that helpless half-swallowed smile his stupid jokes have always provoked, and says, “So I guess it’s a date.”

And that pretty much turns him inside out. 

***

Her dad just nods when Sam tells him that her marriage is over.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, I guess I’m sorry.”

“You guess?” He’s never been one for overt displays of emotion and Kamarl doesn’t seem to be helping. The new symbiote is much more analytical than Selmak ever was. In her head, Sam’s started calling him Spock. 

“Well, I kind of thought you’d bail before the wedding,” he says, “if I’m being honest.”

She gives him a sideways glance. “Maybe you shouldn’t be.”

They’re walking together along the shore of a shallow sea. The sky is marbled violet and the stones beneath her feet reflect the color in the long slow shadows of the evening. It’s cool here, but not cold, and the world is empty but for the Tok’ra encampment. Sam wonders what they’ll do now that the Goa’uld are gone. Their whole identity is defined in opposition to a now-defeated enemy. Without the Goa’uld, who are the Tok’ra?

Jacob stops, gazes out over the slate-gray sea. “So where are you living?” he asks, reverting to the practical in the way men seem to prefer. She’s not averse to a little practicality herself.

“I never sold my house in the Springs,” she says, and now that she thinks about it, that seems like a pretty obvious indication of her faith in her marriage. She sighs at her own blindness, at the lies she’s managed to sell herself for so long. “But I guess I’ll spend more time in Nevada now. Maybe I’ll buy a place there.”

_Unless_ , a seductive voice whispers, _you start spending your weekends in DC_.

Her dad stoops to pick up a stone and sends it flying out across the flat sea. It only skips once before it sinks. They used to do this when she was a kid, Sam remembers, and she always had the best technique. She casts around for a decent, flat stone and finds a couple, hefting them in her hand before choosing the best and making it fly with a flick of her wrist. It skips twice, sinks on the third. Not bad.

“So how’s Jack?” Jacob says, throwing another stone. It skips twice too, sending out ripples that cross and re-cross each other in ever widening circles. “Still seeing that CIA woman?”

“Subtle,” Sam says.

He shrugs. “Kamarl wants to know. He thinks Jack has a thing for you.”

Sam shakes her head, throws her second stone, and can’t help a satisfied _Yes!_ when it skips four times.

Jacob grumbles and kicks over some pebbles with the toe of his soft Tok’ra boot. But he’s not giving up the interrogation. “I think Kamarl ‘s wrong,” he says. “About Jack.”

That gets her attention, her head snaps around and her stomach sinks into a sudden trough of self-doubt. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think it’s way more than ‘a thing’. I think he’s been in love with you for years.” 

Her cheeks burn, she can’t look at him. “You knew? Since when?”

“Since Netu.”

“ _Netu_?” Wow. She hadn’t even known herself back then. “Really?”

“Actually,” he confesses “it was Selmak who pointed it out. But it was pretty obvious after that.”

“Dad,” she says, suddenly mortified by what he might have assumed. “You know that nothing ever happened, right? Not even nearly.”

“I know.” He gives a tight smile. “I admire his professionalism, Sam. And yours. So does George.”

Oh God. “George?”

“Hammond,” he confirms.

She stifles a groan. “Really? Anyone else you’ve discussed this with?”

He shrugs it away and bends to pick up another pebble. “I like Jack,” he says, sending the stone spinning across the waves. It jumps three times and he smiles. “He’s a smartass, but I can live with that if you can. And he’s fun to have around.”

“Dad, you are really jumping the gun here.”

“I hope not,” he says. “Because, let’s face it, you guys aren’t getting any younger.” 

“Dad!”

He shrugs it off, waving a hand toward his head. “Kamarl.”

“Kamarl,” she says, hurling another stone so badly it just dives right into the water, “should keep his opinions to himself.” 

“He doesn’t understand military regulations,” her dad explains. “I do. But, Sam, don’t hide behind them.”

“We’re not,” she says. “It’s just not as simple as Kamarl might think.”

Jacob touches her arm, draws her eyes to him. And it’s her father looking back at her, not Kamarl or Selmak, just Dad. “You know it really is that simple, Sam. You can have everything you want; you’ve earned it. And you deserve to be happy.”

She nods, covers his hand with hers. “I know, Dad. And I will be. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, squeezing her arm and then letting go. “Because I gotta tell you, I’ve been looking forward to having a fatherly chat with Jack O’Neill for a very long time.”

He heads off down the beach and Sam watches him go with a strange mix of elation and horror. She wonders whether Jack has any idea what he’s getting himself into.

***

The first thing Jack does when he gets into the office on Monday morning is ask Major Lee to set up a meeting with General Jumper, Chief of Staff of the Air Force. “ASAP”, Jack says. “Seriously, I’ll meet him in the bathroom if that’s the only opening in his schedule.”

He regrets, of course, that he’s not having this conversation with Hammond because there’d be a whole hell of a lot less explaining to do and that’s the part he’s dreading the most. And he regrets even more that he didn’t have this conversation right after Antarctica. Or a couple years before that. Now that it’s looming, it’s hard to remember why the hell he waited so long.

But then he thinks of all the ways they’ve saved the world in the last four years and gives himself a break. They had their reasons for the decisions they made and he’s not sure he’d make different choices, even if he had the chance.

But now…now is the time. Now it feels right.

Lee squeezes him into a fifteen-minute slot at 11:45 and Jack grabs it with both hands. But he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel uneasy, closing the door behind him as he enters the general’s office, and he’s careful to talk in hypotheticals. 

“If I were to develop personal feelings for someone within my chain of command,” he says, “what would be the best way forward?”

Jumper tells him the best way forward would be to stop having personal feelings for someone within his chain of command.

He counters with, “Let’s say that’s non-negotiable.”

They talk about reassignment and Jumper tells him that it’s not an option for Jack because he’s needed exactly where he is. Jack, respectfully, tells General Jumper that the same is true – and more so – for the other person concerned.

They reach an impasse.

Jack offers his resignation. Jumper refuses.

Jack asks to retire. Jumper sighs and tells him to put it in writing and he’ll refer it to the President.

That night Jack sits at the table in his kitchen where he once had breakfast with Carter, pulls out his laptop, and writes. He’s angry and slightly desperate, and decides not to pull his punches.

 

_Mr President,_

_Ten years ago, after having served for over twenty years in the United States Air Force, I was sent through the Stargate on a mission to detonate a nuclear bomb on an alien world, thus eliminating the threat posed by a Goa’uld who called himself ‘Ra’. I wasn’t tapped for the mission because I was the best man for the job. I was tapped for the mission because, four months earlier, my eight year old son had died and I was suffering from depression with intense suicidal ideation. They chose me because I had nothing left to lose._

_I detonated the bomb. I came back alive. I retired._

_A year later, they asked me to step through the gate again. I did. I served for another seven years on the front line and another year after that as base commander of Stargate Command. During that time I fought the enemy, was captured, lost, tortured, and actually died, several times, in order to keep this planet safe. I didn’t do any of it for glory or recognition. I did it because it was my duty and desire to serve._

_I believe I’ve fulfilled that duty, both to this country and to Earth._

_When I first stepped through the Stargate I had nothing left to lose. But now I do, and I respectfully ask that you consider my request to retire from the Air Force so that I can pursue a personal relationship that means a great deal to me, and that military regulations forbid because of my rank and position._

_I don’t think I’m asking too much._

_Major General Jack O’Neill_

 

He prints it off, signs it in blue ink, slips it into an official envelope and stamps TOP SECRET across the top. He locks it in his desk when he gets to work the next morning and it’s still there when he takes the call from Hank Landry and finds out that Daniel missed his flight to Atlantis because he’s gotten himself handcuffed to an alien woman and is on the trail of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

It sounds like business as usual at the SGC so it doesn’t stop him from handing the letter to General Jumper. Two days after that he first hears the word ‘Ori’ and the world shifts, once more, on its axis.

When he’s called to the White House to see President Hayes, he’s not hopeful. With Appropriations threatening a massive cut to the SGC’s budget, and a whole new cast of bad guys waiting in the wings, he can’t deny that it’s a terrible time to retire. 

Hayes offers him a seat and they talk for a while about Charlie, about why Jack took that first mission to Abydos, and about how, these days, he’d never have been asked to go. 

Jack appreciates the sentiment, but he’s not there to discuss the Air Force’s newly-enlightened attitude to the mental health of its personnel. He wants to know if he can retire.

The president tells him to “Give it a couple of years.” But he also offers a deal, of sorts. “Don’t ask, don’t tell?” he suggests.

Jack tells him that’s a stupid policy and the president doesn’t disagree, but says it’s the best he can do right now.“We’re working with possibilities here,” Hayes reminds him.

Jack offers to retire and work as a civilian consultant.

Hayes refuses; the Head of Homeworld Security is not a civilian post. “Fly below the radar, Jack,” he advises. “I’ll bet you’re pretty good at that.”

“It’s not just me,” Jack points out. “Who’s going to have our backs if this hits the fan?”

Hayes taps a finger on his desk. “Someone once said, ‘the buck stops here’. It still does.” 

Jack tells him that’s a hell of a way to secure a man’s vote in the next election. 

But they shake hands on their unspoken agreement and Jack leaves the Oval Office wondering whether he’ll be able to sell the deal to Carter. And what he’ll do if he can’t.

***

The first thing Sam wants to do when she steps through the gate is call Jack, but instead she’s sent straight to the _Prometheus_ to check on a problem with the new hyper-drive. For reasons she doesn’t quite understand, Daniel had to use the ship to visit England – so much for Atlantis – and the unscheduled trip has jammed the uplink with the long-range plotting program.

It takes her several hours to sort out the problem and by the time she’s back in the SGC, and has made it topside so she can use her cell, it’s 0200 hours in DC and too late to call. 

There are eighteen messages from Pete waiting when she switches on her phone, varying from reasonable to ranting. She doesn’t answer any of them, too tired to deal with him now, but her heart skips when among the slew of Pete’s messages she sees one from Jack.

_Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water…_

She assumes he’s talking about Daniel’s latest misadventure. His message makes her smile but she can’t help feeling a pulse of unease and, if she’s honest, a surge of adrenaline. Something dark is on the horizon.

She starts composing a reply, but then stops. There’s a cool night breeze up here in the mountains, even in the summer, and she shivers. It reminds her of the warmth of Jack’s arms that night on his deck, and Washington suddenly feels like a long way away and she wishes he was here, or she was there. She thinks it would be nice to come home to him in the way she came home to Pete. She thinks it would be nice to wake up with him, eat breakfast with him. 

And she thinks she must have crossed some kind of internal Rubicon because there’s no going back now. All those long-repressed feelings are tumbling out, making themselves known, giving themselves names. It’s all becoming a lot more real and urgent. And suddenly all she wants to do is to speak to him, hear his voice. It’s an overwhelming desire and she doesn’t try to resist. She’s done with resisting and suppressing. So instead of replying to his text, she simply dials his number: Jack O’Neill. His name makes her smile.

It rings for a long time because he must be fast asleep and she can imagine him grumbling as he fumbles for his phone. And then his voice, gravelly with sleep, says “O’Neill.”

Her stomach does a little swooping dive. “Hey,” she says, “sorry to wake you.”

There’s a slight pause, then, “Carter. Hey.” And he doesn’t sound irritable, he sounds warm and sleepy and happy to hear from her. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“The mountain,” she says, because it’s an unsecured line. 

“Hmmm,” he sighs, “that’s far.”

“Closer than before.”

She hears him move, imagines him running fingers through his hair, switching on a light. “How’s your dad?”

“Oh, you know. Blunt.”

“About you and Pete?”

She smiles. “Actually, about you and me.”

“Ah.” There’s a wary silence, then, “In a good way?”

She chuckles. “Well, it’s Dad, so…”

He makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and changes the subject. “Tell me you’re heading to DC tomorrow.”

“I wish,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve got a ton of paperwork to catch up on back in Nevada.”

He sighs too. “Yeah, I figured. I’m swamped too. I guess you heard that the sky’s falling again?”

“I saw your text. I was on the _Prometheus_ most of the day, though, so I didn’t hear too many details. Something about Glastonbury?”

“It’s Daniel’s fault,” Jack says, “as always.”

“What did he touch this time?”

“A woman, I think.”

She laughs at that before she realizes the implications of what he’s saying, of the heavy resignation in his voice, and then her stomach drops like she’s in freefall. “They won’t let you retire, will they? Because of this new thing.” 

“No,” he says quietly. “They won’t.”

“Damn it,” she says, and feels disappointment like a hard and bitter lump in her throat. She can’t swallow it. “Damn.”

“Hey, it’s not terminal,” he assures her gently. “It’s not impossible. It’s just complicated. And something we need to talk about in person, when we’re both more or less conscious.”

She smiles, because he always makes her smile. “Okay,” she says, and after a pause adds, “But it is still possible?”

“Yeah,” he says, “if we’re prepared to fly low.”

She nods, figures she understands what he’s saying. And he’s right; it’s not something to be discussed in the middle of the night on the phone. “I’m in DC in a week and a half,” she says. “I have meetings on the Monday and Tuesday but I’m free the weekend before…”

“Great,” he says. “Me too.”

“Really? That seems easy.”

“Carter,” he says, “unless the world is actually ending that weekend, I’m free.”

Now she’s grinning and she thinks he can probably hear it in her voice. “I’ll take a late flight on Friday,” she says, “and just crash at an airport hotel.”

“Sure. I’ll pick you up in the morning, then,” he says. “Pack your boots.”

“Which boots?”

There’s a pause and she thinks he’s probably contemplating the fact that she owns something other than combat boots. “I was thinking Shenandoah. Hiking?” 

“Mmmm,” she says, relishing the idea. “After a week and a half of paperwork, that’ll be perfect. I can’t wait.” 

“Yeah.” She can hear the slow smile in his voice. “Me neither.”

***

The next ten days are interminable. By the time Sam takes her seat on the scheduled flight from Phoenix, she’s exhausted in a way that only paperwork can produce. It’s like her head is stuffed full of cotton, her eyes glazed from peering at spreadsheets and meeting notes and reports.

She is _so_ ready for this weekend.

Her flight lands after midnight and she heads straight for the hotel. Jack’s picking her up early and she just wants to sleep and be refreshed. He didn’t suggest she stay at his place and she didn’t ask. Things are balanced on a knife edge at the moment, complex possibilities stretching out and no decisions made. 

The escalating situation with the Ori isn’t helping. Not at all. She thinks it’s only a matter of time before she’s back on the front line, the place she can do the most good. What a return to SG-1 would mean for any relationship with Jack she has no idea. The logistics of finding time to see each other aside, she doubts he’ll relish the idea of her leading the charge against a new and ruthless enemy. 

And then there’s Pete, and the painful dissolution of their marriage. He’s still texting her daily and she’s trying to be patient and firm, and not give him any reason to think she might change her mind. She still feels guilty for having drawn him into this mess and Pete has always been good at exploiting her guilt. 

So, with all that hanging between them, it’s no surprise that neither she nor Jack wants to saddle this weekend with any heavy expectations. They’re going to talk, that’s all. And hike. She’s not thinking beyond those two things. And they’re enough to bring a smile to her face.

She checks in, falls into bed and sleeps like the dead until her alarm goes off at six. It’s a bright, sunny morning and her spirits are soaring. She showers quickly and dresses for hiking. It’s not a unlike dressing to go off-world and she feels a nostalgic thrill at wearing functional clothes that make her feel strong and capable, firmly centered in who and what she is. 

When she looks at herself in the mirror she sees Sam Carter looking back and realizes that, for a long time, she’s been trying to be someone else. The high heels and fancy dresses, the dating and the dancing, the happily married wife and mother: none if it was ever really what she wanted _._ She wonders if it’s what her mother would have wanted for her, but somehow she thinks her mom would have just wanted her to be happy in her own skin, to carve her own path and walk it with pride. 

Looking back on the past couple of years, it’s hard to figure out how she strayed so far from that path. But whatever the reason, she’s getting back to it now. She feels more like herself than she has in far too long. And that makes her happy.

She’s barely unpacked and leaves her bag open on the bed, just snagging her sunglasses and a small pack with the usual things you need for a day’s hike when you’re not expecting to run into hostile forces. She quite literally can’t wait for the day to start so after a quick breakfast downstairs, she heads out front to wait for Jack a good ten minutes before he’s due, slipping her sunglasses on against the early-morning glare.

She stops just past the doors with the blasting air-conditioning chasing her out into the morning. Jack’s already there, waiting for her, leaning casually against a powerful looking bike and wearing a beat-up leather jacket she thinks he must have owned forever. 

“Hey,” he says with an insouciant smile. “Need a ride?”

Sam shakes her head, but can’t stifle her grin as she strolls closer. Two can play at nonchalance, after all. “You didn’t sell it, then.”

“Nope.”

She runs her hands over the chrome, the sleek modern lines. She prefers her own classic bikes for style, but can’t deny there’s a lot of power here and that’s a thrill in itself. “Nice,” she says with a nod, and turns back to face him. He’s standing a little closer than she’s expecting and the frisson between them is unmistakable. 

But his smile is cool, his eyes hidden behind his glasses. “You want to drive?”

Sam shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

He’s brought a second helmet and a spare bike jacket and she slips both on as he mounts, starts the bike and gets it into gear. Then she climbs on behind him, settling her weight and holding onto the handrails instead of him. She taps him on the arm when she’s ready to go and he glances over his shoulder. 

“I’ll take it easy at first,” he tells her, and they head out into the quiet of the early morning city. 

He rides well, of course, moving with the bike as they navigate the urban streets. It doesn’t take long for her to get the feel of it too, leaning against his turns, balancing their weight. It’s always harder riding with a passenger, but this feels easy and natural. It doesn’t come as a surprise; they’ve always been in tune.

It’s still early, the traffic light, when they hit I-66. The sun’s behind them and she can guess that he wants to open up the throttle, so she shifts her hands onto his waist, leaning in against his back so he knows she’s ready. He gets the message. The engine roars and she basks in the delicious rush of acceleration that always makes her feel slightly more than alive. 

The power of the machine is visceral, humming in the pit of her stomach, only accentuating the sensations aroused by being pressed up against him as they take the graduated turns of the highway. It’s a perfect moment, vivid and joyful. She tightens her hands on his waist and leans closer.

_This_ , she thinks, _is what I want_. _Just this. Forever_.

They’re in the park and on the Skyline Drive much sooner than is probably legal and Jack slows right down. It feels like they’re crawling along after the rush of the interstate and she sits back, enjoying the view, until he pulls in to a tree-shrouded parking lot and she can see it’s the head of a trail. 

It’s warm already and she’s glad to strip off the jacket and helmet. “That was great,” she says, stretching out kinks in her back as Jack pulls a pack from the top box and folds their jackets inside. 

“Yeah,” he says, with half a glance at her. “It felt good.”

She’s not entirely sure if he’s talking about the ride, or her, or both. But she smiles and says “Yeah, it did.”

He swings his pack over one shoulder, slipping on his sunglasses – his ubiquitous bugaboos -– and his favorite cap. He looks a lot like Colonel O’Neill suddenly, and that gives her an entirely inappropriate thrill. “They said allow six hours for the hike,” he says, looking doubtfully up the trail. “But I figure…”

Sam laughs. “Literally a walk in the park.”

“Right,” he says and grins at her. Really grins, in a way she’s not used to. It’s a Jack smile, she decides, and has nothing to do with the officer she’s known. She likes it a lot. 

A couple of cars pull in, clearly in convoy, and people spill out, clattering and chattering with way too much expensive gear for a short hike.

“Let’s go,” Jack says with a brief touch on her back. “Before the polar expedition catches up with us.”

She grins and they head out at a reasonable speed under dappled morning sunlight. The trail is beautiful, leading up steeply along a narrow gorge with a stream tumbling down through the middle. “I bet it runs fast through here in spring,” she says, glancing down through the foliage to catch a glimpse of dancing water.

“There’s a waterfall at the top,” he says, stopping and looking up ahead. “Bears too, maybe, if there’s not too much noise.”

“We could leave the trail if it gets busy,” Sam says. “If you’ve got a map?”

“Carter,” he chides. “Of course I’ve got a map.”

It gets steep for a while, and she enjoys the burn in her legs and lungs. They’re easily outstripping the day hikers so the trail is quiet, full of birdsong and the buzz of insects as the heat builds. She pauses, wipes her sleeve over her forehead.

“Heads up,” Jack says, and throws her a water bottle.

Up ahead the gorge narrows and it looks like it’s going to be a scramble over the rocks. “You know,” she says, after she’s taken a long drink, “it’s nice to be doing this without being shot at or chased by something dangerous.”

“I don’t know,” he says, “did you see those people back there?”

She throws the bottle back to him and he takes a drink himself. She finds herself watching the way his throat moves when he swallows, the way his skin glistens, the damp hair poking out from beneath his hat. She remembers the shift of muscles in his back as he moved with the bike, the way he felt pressed against her. She feels a buzz of desire, low down and unremitting like the thrum of the motorbike. 

He looks at her, but his eyes are hidden behind his glasses. So are hers. Even so, she’s pretty sure he knows what she’s thinking; she’s pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

In the distance, she can hear the happy shouts of children. “Let’s move on,” she says. “I want to see the view.”

It’s an easy scramble over the boulders that block this section of the gorge. Jack goes first and waits for her at the top. She pauses, looking up at him as she prepares to climb up the last few feet. He’s watching her like he might have done off-world, making sure she’s okay. But then, after a moment’s thought, he does something he’d have never done when they were working – he leans down and holds out his hand to pull her up. They both know she doesn’t need any help but that’s not really the point. 

She takes his hand, warm and strong, and lets him steady her up the last couple of feet. “Thanks,” she says when she reaches the top. 

“Sure,” he says and neither of them are letting go.

Jack nods toward a rocky outcrop. “Wanna go admire the view?” 

They don’t acknowledge that they’re hand in hand, that their shoulders are bumping because they’re walking so close together. But she feels the preciousness of the moment with a sharp and painful delight and from the tight grip he has on her hand she thinks he feels it too. 

This is what they could have – this intense closeness, this easy happiness. And she wants it like nothing else. But what she doesn’t know, what he hasn’t told her yet, is what they’ll have to do to get it and still be able to live with themselves.

Large flat rocks are levered out over the top of the falls, which plummet a good hundred feet into the gorge below. Spread out beyond are the wide hills and valleys of Virginia.

“Trees,” Jack sighs in mock resignation. “There’s always trees.”

She smiles. “Beautiful though. I mean, really beautiful.”

“Because it’s home,” he says. “What we were fighting for.”

She looks at him, her smile slipping when she sees his serious expression. “What we’re _still_ fighting for?” 

He nods, lips pressing tight together.

There’s another rock, a little further around and away from the trail, shaded by a stand of trees. She tugs on his hand, “Let’s go sit down.”

They do, sharing a bottle of water and gazing out across the valley and hills. At first neither of them speak, but Sam’s tired of waiting so after a while she says, “You were going to tell me about your conversation with General Jumper.”

He nods, picks up a stick and starts scratching it across the rock. She doesn’t like that he’s nervous, doesn’t like what that means. “He said no to reassignment,” Jack says bluntly, and her heart sinks even though she already knew that. He glances at her, but she can’t see much behind his glasses. “So I asked to retire and he told me to put it in writing to the President.” 

There’s a little breeze up here, ruffling through the leaves. Sam swipes off her hat, lets it tousle her hair. “Is it weird that the President of the United States has some say on whether or not we can do this?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s pretty nuts.”

She wishes she could see his eyes, resists the temptation to pull his sunglasses off his face. “So?” she says, when he doesn’t add any more. “What did the President say?”

Jack breathes out past tight lips, a controlled sigh. “He said to give it a couple of years.”

“ _Years_?” She feels a sudden welling of despair, of weariness so extreme she can barely think around it. She can’t wait years, she can’t lock the door on all this again. She just can’t. Her heart is breaking at the thought, a tight, real pain, and she looks away, glad now for the sunglasses hiding the way her eyes are filling. “That’s not fair,” she says. “That’s just not fair. After everything we’ve done—”

“Hey.” He touches her arm. “Wait, that’s not the end of it.”

She glances at him, blinking behind her glasses. “What do you mean?”

“Hayes offered us a deal.” He makes a face. “It’s not much of a deal, but it’s better than—” He cuts himself off. “Well, see what you think. The deal is ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’.”

“You’re kidding.” 

“Wish I was.”

A wry smile creeps past her gloom. “You’re sure he didn’t think you were involved with Daniel?”

“Nah,” Jack says, deadpan. “Daniel’s a civilian.” 

They sit in silence again, listening to the roar of water hitting the rocks far below. She catches the watery, loamy scent of the spray in the air as she thinks, turning over the problem like a stone caught in the tumult. “And there’s really no possibility of reassignment?”

Jack sighs. “No. But even if there was…” He glances at her, looks unsure.

“The Ori,” she finishes for him. 

“Daniel’s scared,” he says. “And that’s not nothing.”

“No,” she sighs. Suddenly, despite the heat, she feels cold and hugs her legs up to her chest. It’s as if this sunny summer’s day is darkening, war clouds once more on the horizon. “I’ll probably be reassigned back to the SGC,” she says. “Mitchell’s already making noises about me rejoining SG-1.”

“I know.”

She glances at him, but he’s not looking at her. He’s gazing out over the falls. She swallows her doubts and says, “I think I’ll want to go.” 

“I think we’ll need you there,” he says, which isn’t what she’d been expecting. She’d been expecting him to protest, to tell her how hard it would be on him to be left behind while she puts herself in danger. 

“That wouldn’t bother you?”

“Putting you in harm’s way?” he says. “It’s bothered me for a long time, Carter, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Of course he’s right and she realizes she’d been anticipating Pete’s reaction, not Jack’s. The difference strikes her forcefully and she’s surprised she didn’t notice it before. She sighs, rests her head on the top of her knees. “Maybe it would be easier,” she ventures, “if we weren’t involved?”

Jack goes still. “Is that what you want?” There’s not a hint of emotion in his voice when he asks the question, he’s entirely neutral.

She’s reminded, vividly, of other moments between them – after the za’tarc thing, after Jonah and Thera, after she’d started seeing Pete – when he’d done that exact same thing and put the ball squarely in her court. She thinks it’s time to bat it back to him. “Tell me what _you_ want, Jack.”

He dismisses that with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I want, it’s up to—”

“Whoa,” she says, shaking her head. “Of course it matters. This isn’t just my decision. It never was, even if you—” She cuts herself off, tips her head to one side and says, “Why did you always do that? Leave it all up to me?”

He looks thrown by the question. “Because…” he gestures vaguely between them, “I was your CO. I didn’t want to put any undue pressure on you. Obviously.”

“You know, I never once saw it that way.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I did.”

She takes a breath. She doesn’t want to argue about the past. “Well it’s not an issue now,” she says firmly. “So, tell me. Do you think it would be easier if we weren’t involved, given what’s probably coming our way?”

He licks his lips, takes another swallow of water. “Carter…” He’s uncomfortable. He’s happier deferring to her, not pushing this thing between them but just going with the flow. Maybe both of them have been guilty of that. Maybe that’s why they’ve gotten so lost. 

“I know what _I_ think about it,” she says quietly. “But I want to know what you think.”

He gets to his feet, takes a step closer to the edge of the rock, into the sunlight. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck where the sun beats down. 

She stands too, keeping to the shade, waits and tries not to hold her breath.

“I think,” he says eventually, “that if something happened, and we hadn’t given this a shot, the regret would be a bitch.”

“Yeah,” she says, almost laughing in relief. “I think we’ve conclusively proven that not acting on feelings doesn’t make them disappear.”

“Or any less intense.”

“No,” she agrees.

He turns, comes back to her. Standing close, but not touching, he reaches out and runs a finger over the back of her hand. “Did we just reach a decision?”

And that’s all they have to do, she realizes. Decide. There’s no waiting for anyone to retire or be reassigned. Nothing official has to happen at all. It’s just them choosing whether or not to step into this thing they’ve been circling for years, deciding whether they’re going to take the tenuous assurance of one man as permission to cross the line they’ve been holding for so long.

She licks her lips and blows out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says. “I think we did.”

“Okay,” he says, threading his fingers through hers. “Okay then.”

They stand there together for a moment, listening to the sound of the waterfall, of birds in the trees and the breeze rustling through leaves, dappling the sunlight.

“Hey,” Jack says, “see? The world didn’t even end.”

“Give it time,” she says with a wry smile.

“It won’t.” He tugs on her hand, pulling her closer. “Not because of this.”

She gives a nervous laugh. “So…”

“So,” he echoes with a speculative look, “I guess now we can do this.” And then he leans in and kisses her, affectionate and undemanding, one hand light on the small of her back, languid as the summer heat. He pulls away, looks at her and smiles. 

She feels lightheaded, a little high. Reaching up, she tugs his sunglasses off and says, “That’s better.”

He returns the favor and she blinks in the glare until he cups her face in a warm hand and kisses her again. Her eyes drift shut and she can feel the sun on her face and his fingers tangling in her hair, and a kiss that’s long and slow and deep. 

Probably she could stay there forever, lost in sensation, but eventually the sound of people approaching penetrates her hazy mind and Jack looks up, over her shoulder.

“Let’s move on,” he says, slipping his glasses back on against the midday sun.

He takes her hand and they follow the trail around the bottom of an outcrop of rock that looms above them, casting deep shadows. The path leads back down into the trees, but Jack hesitates. He glances down the trail, then along the base of the rock. “We could try around there,” he suggests. “You ready for lunch?”

They walk on for twenty minutes or so, picking their way through the trees, until they find another overview of the waterfall just a short scramble down the side of the gorge and nicely private. They’re on the shady side now, with the steep gorge rising behind them and a patch of scrubby grass on a ledge just wide enough for two. It’s pretty much perfect.

Lunch, Sam discovers, is a couple of MRE packs. She laughs when she sees them and tells him she’ll bring lunch next time. 

“Good,” he says. “You can carry it too.”

They pick out the best bits to eat, pack up the rest and then stretch out on the grass and watch the leaves far above. “Let’s just stay here forever,” Sam says.

“Chilly in the winter,” he points out.

She rolls onto her side, props her head on one hand and touches his face with the other. “We won’t see each other much,” she says, “with you in DC and me in Nevada – or wherever.”

“More than we did before,” he says, catching her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist in a way the makes her eyelids flutter shut. “You taste like salt,” he says, smiling against her skin. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she says, when she can focus again. “The distance, I mean?”

He lowers her hand, keeps it in his. “It’s the best we can do right now. And it’s more than we had when—” He looks away, back up into the trees. 

“When I was with Pete,” she finishes with a sigh. “You must have hated me.”

“Nope.”

“Pete hates me.”

He glances at her again. “Is he bothering you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

His eyes narrow in a familiar, assessing look. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Tell me if that changes.”

She loves that he takes her at her word, that he trusts her judgment. It’s what their working relationship was built on, of course, but she loves that it pulls through into this – whatever this is – as well. She thinks it bodes well for their future.

“It’s not like we’ll be living on different planets, or anything,” he says, changing the subject. “We can phone, text, email. Collect air miles.”

“I’m going to miss the kissing, though,” she says with a smile, leaning down to demonstrate. He holds her there, one hand threading into her hair and the other slipping under the edge of her t-shirt, warm fingers on the bare skin of her back. And then the kissing gets fairly intense for a while.

By the time they break apart they’re both disheveled and breathless. The sun’s past its zenith, shadows lengthening. “We should head down,” Jack says, without any real sign of getting up.

“Next time,” Sam says, “we should camp. Bring a tent, and do some backcountry camping.”

His eyes light up. “You and me, alone in a tent…”

“Somewhere remote.”

“With no Teal’c or Daniel sleeping between us.”

She chuckles. “Right. And no MREs.”

He gives her a smoldering look. “Yeah, like we’d waste time _eating_.” 

“God no,” she agrees fervently. 

And there’s a moment when they just gaze at each other, burning, until Sam rasps, “How fast can we get back to your place?”

“Fast,” he says.

By the time they reach the parking lot it’s late afternoon and they’re tired but buzzing. Jack throws her the bike jacket, kicks the engine into life and she climbs on behind him and slides her arms around his waist as they head out of the park. The traffic’s heavier going home and they can’t drive as fast as they did on the way out. Halfway down the interstate Jack pulls into a gas station.

Sam climbs off, tugs off her helmet. “You pump, I’ll pay?”

“Carter?” he catches her around the waist before she can walk away and touches his lips to hers. Risky, out here where anyone can see. She thrills to it, and kisses him back hard and doesn’t care who’s watching. Dangerous, these games, but they’re the ones most worth playing.

She pays for the gas and grins at the cashier just because she feels disheveled and sexy as hell. 

Jack’s leaning against the bike when she comes out he throws her the keys. “Your turn.”

“Really?”

“Go for it,” he says and doesn’t try to hide the heat in his eyes as he watches her mount the bike. 

She flashes him a grin. “Ready?”

His answering smile is positively indecent as he climbs on behind her and leans forward to murmur in her ear. “See that guy filling up his car? Totally checking you out.”

She shakes her head, but glances over anyway, just in time to see the guy turn away. She kicks up the stand, puts the bike into gear and Jack slips his arms around her waist. “Don’t distract me,” she warns him, and then guns the engines.

The bike is a thrill to ride, and she weaves in and out of traffic a little more than necessary, loving the sensations – the slight danger, the power of the bike, the way Jack moves with her, the feel of him pressed against her back. 

She’s almost sorry when she reaches his house, pulling up in the driveway next to his car and feeling his arms loosen around her waist. She kills the engine and it’s only in the sudden absence of the engine noise that she feels the tension between them, the weight of this moment. 

Jack climbs off the bike, his hands trailing over her back as he moves. He pulls off his helmet, shakes his head. His hair is mussed and there’s something guarded in his eyes, something that’s been missing all day. She feels it too, now that they’re back in the city and closer to reality. She feels the consequences of what they’ve done, what they’re about to do.

She glances over at the road, but there are no cops watching. 

“The security level went down,” he says, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm it. “Ironically.”

The national security level, of course, has nothing to do with the Ori or any extraterrestrial threat and so is essentially meaningless to the Department of Homeworld Security. But she’s glad the cops aren’t there, it makes her feel a little less like she’s doing something wrong.

She pulls her helmet off and dismounts. The air here is sticky and warmer than up in the hills and she peels off her bike jacket too. Jack rummages in his pocket, looking for something.

“GDO,” he says with a quick grin, and opens the garage door.

She can’t help the laugh, despite the rising nervous tension in the pit of her stomach. He wheels the bike inside and she picks up his helmet and her own and follows.

Inside it’s cooler, and she can feel the AC working already.

“Why don’t you go on up?” he says, not looking at her as he maneuvers the bike, steps on the kickstand, peels off his jacket.

They’re both nervous, she realizes, and maybe he needs a few moments to himself. She wouldn’t mind the same, so she says, “Sure,” and heads up the stairs into the kitchen. 

The last time she was here was the night they’d argued and the memories arrest her as she stands there, looking about. It feels like ages ago and everything has changed since then. 

Thank God. 

She feels a rush of relief and certainty. This is right, what they’re doing is right. They can’t go back to how things were. She can’t live that lie anymore. 

She opens a cupboard and chooses a tall glass, filling it at the tap and drinking deeply. Her face feels like she got some sun, glowing and slightly tight, and her muscles are nicely tired. She feels good; she feels happy. Taking a seat at the table where they’d shared breakfast, she unties her boots and nudges them over to the wall by the door. Then she pulls off her socks, relishing the cool tile against her hot feet.

Jack comes up from the garage a moment later and goes straight to the fridge. “Beer?” he says, eyeing her glass of water.

“Later,” she says. “I need to rehydrate a little first.”

“Beer is hydrating,” he says, snagging a bottle and coming to join her. 

“Sure,” she says, “that’s why all the field medics carry it.”

He flips off the lid and takes a long swallow. She has to admit, the beer looks good with the condensation beading around his fingers. He must sense her watching because when he lowers the bottle from his lips he offers it to her. “You know you want to,” he says and she suspects he’s not only talking about the beer.

She takes it anyway. “Yeah,” she says. “I do.” 

It tastes great, ice cold and refreshing slipping down her throat. When she hands it back to him he’s watching her with obvious intent, but still there’s caution in his eyes. He takes the beer in one hand, her fingers in the other. “So…” he says, running his thumb across the palm of her hand, “we’re okay with this?”

What he’s really asking is, _are you okay with this_? She curls her fingers around his. “If I wasn’t,” she says, “I wouldn’t be here.” 

He looks down at where their fingers are entwined on the table. “It’s still a risk,” he warns. “We only have Hayes’s word…”

“I know.”

He looks up. “No going back, after this.”

“There’s never been any going back.”

“No deniability,” he clarifies. “We’ll have breached the regulations.”

She knows what he’s doing; she sees it even if he can’t. “Jack,” she says, reproving him gently, “this isn’t a mission. You’re not my CO and you’re not responsible for the choices I make here.” He frowns, uncomfortable, and she touches his cheek, draws her fingers along his jaw until he’s looking at her again. “I know you have good reason to doubt it, but I do actually know what I want. And this is what I want.” 

He fixes her with a long, searching look and then nods. “Okay,” he says, and she can see the decision made. “Okay.” Beer forgotten, he stands up and holds out his hand to her, half a smile on his lips and eyes full of invitation. 

She feels a swoop of excitement, an elemental thrill as she takes his hand and lets him tug her close. Barefoot she’s shorter than usual and he must notice because he smiles as he leans down and kisses her, one hand on her hip the other cupping her cheek, running lightly down her neck, under her shirt and skimming her collarbone. 

She pushes against him, molding her body to his with spike of urgency, a sharp and sudden need. He responds, meets her beat for beat as they stumble back against the table. But then he slows the pace and breaks away, kissing her face, her throat, the place near her ear where he kissed her goodbye in the dark Colorado night. He lingers there, as if he’s kissing away the bitter memories, and the sensation of his lips against her skin leave her breathless. “Upstairs?” she breathes and his eyes darken.

He tastes of sunshine and the outdoors, his body familiar yet unfolding like new ground under her slow exploration. Taut muscle she’s only touched through uniform, warm skin she’s only glimpsed, scars she’s seen made but not healed. She feels like she knows him completely, yet not at all; like she’s learning him inch by inch in the dusky light of his bedroom.

Their bodies move instinctively in rhythms learned over years of living and fighting as one, of loving in the secret spaces between. But his tender intensity takes her completely by surprise when he breathes her name against her lips, into her hair, against her throat, kisses her everywhere, touches, explores and makes her completely his own, surrendering to her entirely. 

“I love you,” she whispers. “I always loved you. Always.” 

She feels the catch in his breathing, the way his arms tighten around her, the hot gasp of her name against her skin, straining muscle taut beneath her fingers as everything shatters. 

And she thinks she’ll never have enough of him, not ever, not if she lives a thousand years. She’ll never have enough of this man she loves.

***

Later, he snags the cardkey to her hotel room and swings by to pick up her stuff. Neither of them pretend she’ll be staying anywhere other than his house.

She showers while he’s gone, boneless, sated and inexpressibly happy, and orders Chinese food which they eat on the sofa right out of the cartons. They don’t talk about work, about what’s coming down the pipe, about how her life will soon be in daily danger once more. But they do plan her next trip to DC, how they’ll pack a tent and go camping one night. With a wistful smile he suggests the cabin at some indeterminate point in the future, and she tells him yes, that she’s wanted to go ever since the first time he invited her. That makes him grin, the goofy grin she saw almost for the first time today. 

But beyond that, it’s too uncertain to make plans. They both understand. They both know that, for now, this thing they have will have to slip unnoticed between the demands and duties of their jobs – just like it always has. But that doesn’t make it any less real, any less significant.

They don’t pretend their relationship won’t make things harder, that the closer they get the more they’re risking. But they do it anyway. Sam thinks it might just be the bravest thing they’ve ever done. 

They slip back into bed and into each other, existing only in that moment, everything heightened by the precarious future. It’s emotional and raw, starkly honest, and leaves Sam reeling in the aftermath. He holds her close, holds her until she’s back together, but they don’t sleep. There’s too much to feel for sleeping. 

Curled against him, her head on his chest, she says, “It’s been a pretty perfect day.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Pretty perfect.”

Beneath her cheek she can hear the steady beat of his heart; along her arm she can feel the gentle caress of his fingers. “No regrets?” 

“Not about this.”

She runs her hand across his chest. “You know you might have a few, when we tell my Dad.”

He makes a noise in his throat, a drowsy denial. 

“He wants to talk to you,” she says. “He described it as a ‘fatherly chat’.”

Jack’s still for a moment, silent, but she can hear feel the humor buzzing through him when he says, “Did I mention I’m transferring to Atlantis?”

“Not nearly far enough.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh and kisses her hair. “Then I guess it’s lucky I love you so much.” 

She grins. “Yeah?”

“Like you didn’t know,” he says, pulling her close. “Like there was ever a time I didn’t.”

She smiles at his exaggeration, but doesn’t protest. It feels too good to hear it, to know it for sure after so many months and years of wondering. 

And perhaps that’s why she feels the future opening up ahead of her, a bright, dangerous, incredible path. Maybe it won’t include kids, or a conventional family, and it certainly won’t ever be considered normal. But it’s her path to walk and the man she wants with her on the journey is the man who’s been there all along, walking at her side even when the path got hard and rocky. Even when she tried to leave him behind.

She lifts herself up on one elbow so she can see him. In the dark of the night, shadows soften the familiar angles and planes of his face and he’s the gentle man she’s glimpsed so often beneath the uniform. “Thanks,” she says, “for waiting, for still being here for me.” 

“Always, Carter.” He cups her face, gives her a steady look as if making sure she really gets it. “I’ll _always_ be here for you.”

She knows without doubt that it’s true because he’s here now, despite everything that came between them, he’s right here. She thinks that’s pretty spectacular. 

 

_Epilogue_  
Jack takes the bike out most weekends when Carter’s off-world. It gives him something to think about and takes him away from his cell phone. There’s no reception up in the mountains and he realizes pretty fast that that’s a good thing, because sometimes he just has to let go and stop worrying. Riding fast helps too, a release for the pooling adrenaline that has nowhere useful to go.

It’s difficult when she’s away; he can’t pretend it’s not. And he can’t stop a little resentment from feeding into his relationship with his superiors, although he knows it’s not really their fault and saves most of his anger for the Ori.

But there are good times too, plenty of them. For every heart-clenching goodbye there’s a moment when he sees her again, safe and sound, when she’s real and in his arms and he’s burying his face into the crook of her neck and just losing himself in the physicality of her.

Mostly they meet in DC, because her downtime rarely coincides with weekends and at least they have the evenings together even if he can’t scale back his schedule as much as he’d like. But coming home to her at the end of the day is a kind of bliss in itself, a reminder of what they’re waiting for down the line. 

He sees Kerry quite often at the Pentagon and at Groom Lake. Just because Sam’s not there anymore, doesn’t mean he’s not still making trips out to Nevada to check up on the geeks. He feels awkward telling Kerry about Sam, but it’s only fair after everything he didn’t tell her when they were together. She smiles in response, kisses him lightly on the cheek, and says Sam told her weeks ago. 

“We’re friends, remember?”

He doesn’t begin to know what that means and tries not to imagine what they might talk about. It would be egotistical to imagine it’s him, but a nervous part of him can’t help wondering if they’re comparing notes.

But he buys her lunch anyway and a couple weeks later she buys him lunch and pretty soon they’ve settled into a friendly reciprocal pattern. It’s only after a few months of this that he realizes their lunches seem to coincide with Sam’s off-world assignments. 

“Are you keeping an eye on me?” he asks one day, over sushi.

Kerry looks innocent. “In what sense?”

“In the sense that Carter asked you to make sure I’m not going nuts while she’s away?”

Her smile is broad and she pleads the fifth instead of answering, but he’s touched by the idea – both that Sam would ask and that Kerry would still care enough to agree. 

“You’re pretty amazing,” he tells her outside, pulling her into a hug. 

She hugs him back for a moment, then steps away. “I told you,” she says. “I like you. I like Sam. And, besides, if it wasn’t for you guys and your screwed-up lives I might not have met Malcolm.”

The name doesn’t register, so he gives her a blank look.

“Agent Barrett,” Kerry clarifies.

“Why would you—? Oh!” Well that’s a surprise. “Barrett? Really?”

“It’s not serious,” she says, heading off down the street and leaving him to follow. “At least…well. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Jack catches up to her, shortening his stride to keep pace. “Barrett’s a pretty serious guy,” he says, smiling at the slight flush in her cheeks. He’s not sure he’s ever seen her blush before and that tells him everything he needs to know. “He’s a good man, too. I like him.”

“Yes,” she says, “so do I.”

He’s left with a small glow of satisfaction for the rest of the day that only dims when he reaches for his phone to call Sam, and then remembers she’s still off-world. He sighs and sends her a text that he knows she won’t read for days.

Sometimes, if he can think of a good enough operational reason, he manages to get down to the Springs. He enjoys going back there, although DC increasingly feels like home. With his own house sold, he naturally stays at Carter’s place – he even has his own key, which he keeps with all the others on his keychain and which stupidly makes him smile whenever he sees it.

It’s in Carter’s house, in her kitchen, that he’s eventually cornered by her father, who turns up unexpectedly with Sam hovering behind him looking apologetic. “He just arrived today,” she says with a helpless shrug. 

Jack glances around, but he’s trapped between the fridge and the sink. Since there’s no escape, he figures he just needs to brazen it out. “Hey, Jake! Good to see you. Here. In Sam’s kitchen. Um…beer?”

“No thanks,” Jacob says with a glint in his eye that looks decidedly like Kamarl. “So, I hear you’re sleeping with my daughter?”

_Okay_ , he thinks. _That’s how this is going to go_.

From the living room he hears Sam’s _Oh brother_ and a moment later the front door closes behind her. Wise choice.

Jack clears his throat and figures honesty is the best policy. “Look, Jacob, I care about Sam a lot,” he says. “As in, I love her. A lot. As in, I’ve been in love with her for years.”

Jacob lifts an eyebrow. “Do you think I didn’t know all that?”

“Oh. I just thought—”

“Look, Jack, all I care about is that Sam’s happy.”

“Right. Me too.” 

He nods. “But she wouldn’t be happy if this screwed up her career, would she? If it cost her her place in the Stargate Program?”

“It won’t.”

He folds his arms, eyes narrowing. Give him a couple of stars on his shoulders and he’d be General Carter once more. “Sam told me about the deal you made, with President Hayes,” he says. “It’s not exactly cast iron.”

“No. You’re right, there’s a risk. But, Jacob, I would do _anything_ to protect Sam. You know that.”

“Even end this?”

“I—” He feels a wild thump in his chest, a desperate panic. “No,” he says, bracing himself. “Not unless that’s what she wanted.”

“Even if you knew it was the best thing for her?”

He snorts. “Jacob, I can’t decide what’s best for Sam. And, with all due respect, neither can you.”

Jacob’s silent for a moment, communing with his inner snake. When his eyes refocus he says, “You’re right. Kamarl was concerned.”

“Kamarl? About what?”

Jacob shrugs. “Latent power structures.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re right. You don’t get to make decisions for Sam. Not on this or anything else.” 

And then he gets it. Jacob is thinking about Shanahan and before that Jonas Hanson. Sam’s penchant for controlling men is a little worrying and he can see where Jacob – or Kamarl – might be coming from given that he’s spent the last eight years giving Carter orders. “Look, Jacob,” he says, “there’s no one whose choices I respect more than Sam’s. No one.”

Jacob makes a noncommittal noise. “You seem to make her happy at any rate,” he admits. “And Sam deserves to be happy.” 

“Yes, she does.”

“So,” Jacob says with a nod. “Good.”

Jack lets a beat fall, but there’s nothing else. “That’s it?”

“Well, obviously if you hurt or disappoint her in any way I’ll kick your ass back to Netu.”

“Netu exploded. We blew it up.”

“And your point is…?”

“Okay,” Jack says, turning to the refrigerator. “How about that beer?”

Sam comes home later, entering the house cautiously, to find them watching a game together. She catches Jack’s eye. _Well?_

“Don’t worry,” Jacob says, not looking away from the TV. “He’s still in one piece. Kamarl thinks he’s got excellent genes, by the way. You know, for grandchildren.”

Sam’s eyes go wide.

Jack just grins and says, “Levis.”

They tell Daniel and Teal’c at Carter’s house too, now that Teal’c is back on SG-1 and Daniel’s field trip to Atlantis is on permanent hold. It’s not that they’re excluding Mitchell and Vala, exactly; it’s just that this is personal. This is between friends. Besides, Sam doesn’t trust Vala to keep her mouth shut.

So they have an old-fashioned team night in and somewhere along the line Jack drapes his arm around Sam’s shoulder where they’re sitting on the sofa and Daniel looks at them and says, “Oh. So that’s what this is all about.”

“I don’t want it to be weird,” Sam says awkwardly. “You know, between the four of us.”

Daniel and Teal’c share a look and then Teal’c says, “Your feelings for each other did not go unnoticed during the years we served together. The current absence of unresolved sexual tension is…refreshing.”

“Really? Sam looks genuinely horrified. “Oh God. I had no idea.” 

Jack nudges her shoulder. “He’s yanking your chain, Carter.”

Daniel chuckles. “We’re happy for you guys,” he says. “Right, Teal’c?”

“Indeed,” Teal’c agrees. And then with an arch look at Jack he says, “Perhaps you could tell me how best to cook the rice to throw at your wedding, O’Neill?”

Jack opens his mouth to deflect the implication but not before Sam says, “Oh, it wouldn’t be that kind of wedding.”

There’s a moment where she realizes what she’s just said, where no one speaks and Jack just looks at her. Panic widens her eyes, like she’s given something secret away, and he smiles to let her know it’s okay. “No,” he says, “it would be much less fancy than that. Just a couple of friends, maybe a small party afterward?”

She nods. “Right. Not that I’ve thought about it, much.”

“No,” he says. “Me neither.” 

But his heart is beating a little faster and that irrepressible grin of hers is lighting up the room when she turns away.

Daniel looks at them both with a despairing shake of his head. “Teal’c,” he says. “I think it’s time we hit the road.”

They don’t mention the wedding thing again until they’ve finished cleaning up and the dishwasher’s humming. Jack catches her around the waist in the middle of the kitchen and pulls her close. “Hey…so I was wondering. Do you think you’d ever do the whole marriage thing again?”

She tilts her head to one side and smiles. “Yeah. Would you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I liked being married.”

His answer seems to surprise her, but she doesn’t look unsettled; one thing he’s learned over these last few months is that his past, Sara in particular, doesn’t threaten her at all. She’s curious, but never pries and is never jealous. 

He says, “But I doubt a wedding is what Hayes meant when he said ‘fly below the radar’.”

She gives a rueful smile. “Probably not.”

“Something to think about, though. For the future.”

“Definitely something to think about.”

She smiles then, that sunshine smile that always turns him inside out, and he can’t help but kiss her, desire mounting as her body softens against him. And he savors it, this simple moment in her kitchen, hoards it against the uncertain days and years ahead. 

One day, he thinks, they’ll be free to tell the world, but until then they have this. 

And this is pretty close to perfect.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end - and for enduring so much angst on the way. I hope you've enjoyed it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it, and many thanks to everyone who's taken the time to comment. I really appreciate reading your thoughts on the story.
> 
> Finally, huge thanks again to bethanyactually for all the long conversations that informed so much of this story. Not to mention the excellent beta! You're a star. :)


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